Road of Rust
by steelmongoose
Summary: Set in the Warhammer 40k universe. Follow the defense of a planet besieged by Orks through the eyes of those who fight them.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

" The worst policy is to attack cities…. Attack cities only when there is no alternative. "

-Sun Tzu, _The Art of War_

The planet of Praetor IV sat on the very rim of the fluctuating border of what is known as Imperial Space. Located in the far south of the galaxy it hung like a green jewel streaked with blue veins, covered in verdant forests on 90 percent of its landmass, excepting at the extreme poles. Rivers the size of small seas flowed sluggishly from both poles to feed the ever-thirsty flora and fauna in-between, shrinking slightly during the short, wet winters, and swelling dangerously during the spring. Their banks eroded quickly, chewing away meters of shore a year, creating an ever-shifting geography that made initial surveying quite a frustrating affair. Rare was the day that there was no form of precipitation falling from the skies, the abundant planetary water flowing through the cycles of evaporation, condensation and precipitation rapidly.

All of this changed, indeed, _had_ to change if the valuable mineral resources that were constantly dredged from the soil by the rivers were to be harvested and refined before heading out to other more industrialized planets to become whatever was necessary, be it bolter rounds or vox caster circuitry. Imposing its collective will upon the planet the Imperium of Man landed great ships filled with earth-movers and other mechanized equipment, which immediately went to work re-diverting, damming, or channeling the rivers so that a stable base for the buildings that were to follow would not be swept away or destroyed by floods. This monumental task took years to complete, but eventually the waterways were tamed, several of them spanned with massive hydroelectric dams that would provide much of the power needed for the growing industry.

With stable areas of land to deal with the workers began a massive deforestation, slashing and burning huge swathes of forest, not only to allow for the immediate building of structures, but enough to allow for space to grow for generations to come. In the wake of their deforestation they also treated the land with a cocktail of herbicidal chemicals, insuring that all of the work they had completed would not be un-done in the span of a decade, leaving hundreds of square kilometers of the planet's surface barren of anything but the hardiest of grasses and ferns. Praetor wood was practically useless for anything but burning, far too soft and wet to be crafted into anything worth while, mile-long ridges of cut logs simply allowed to rot on the edges of the cleared land.

Construction of what would become the true destiny of this once wild and beautiful world began in earnest during its twelfth year of development, the planetary overseers desperate to start paying back the labor and materials already used to develop Praetor IV. Battalions of workers, both those of the skilled, paid variety and those who, for whatever reason, were condemned to live the rest of their lives in forced labor camps all across the Imperium, arrived, living in sprawling shanty towns and pre-fab buildings for much of the initial construction. Miles of razor wire, electrified fencing and twisting mazes of cage tunnels and gates made escape unlikely, while the addition of the 1st Praetorian Protectors, the Imperial Guard regiment assigned to the planet, made escape a possibly lethal proposition. This is not to say that the indigenous carnivores, their traditional hunting grounds violated and made inaccessible, did not feast on their share of escapees, making life in the camps only a hair-breadth worse than freedom outside them.

With metal, plastic, glass and concrete the building of the power relay stations, factories, refineries, housing complexes and administrative offices began, springing up rapidly from the poisoned earth like a forest of grey, thick trees. Tunnels for power, water and sewage were dug in the moist soil, the water table having retreated only enough to allow a single sub-level to exist, the rest having to be built in ever-ascending levels, criss-crossed with catwalks, bridges, support cables, pipes and braces. It was said, amongst the workers in those days, that one could not drop a tool from any level above the first and have it hit ground, so thick and pervasive were the connections between buildings. Like a dreary hedge maze the industrial zones were constructed in twisting, parallel rows, the ground level little more than a dizzying array of access roads, railways and streets for massive transport vehicles to wind their way to their destinations. Drainage was important, as was quickly found out, the torrential rains of spring and summer often flooding the ground level and sub-level for hours at a time, gigantic water pumps flushing it out to concrete floodways that eventually terminated into a river far from the industrialized zones.

The construction from that point on was constant and almost frenzied, expanding out into the fields where only the hardy grass grew, followed by an impenetrable sheet of asphalt. The planet's population began to grow exponentially as well as the facilities already built needed to be staffed, supervised, and maintained. It wasn't long into the fourteenth year of development that the planet finally began to ship raw and refined ores off-world, much to the relief of the Planetary Governor Adna who was beginning to come under some intense scrutiny from the Administratum of Terra who sat millions of light years away, but whose reach could still easily be felt if they wished it so. The Masters and Prefects of the incalculably immense bureaucratic network cared little about the specific ills that troubled him and his efforts, their eyes firmly on the bottom line and the list of those waiting to see if perhaps they could do a better job.

Things did run relatively smoothly, thought the addition of three more regiments of Imperial Guard to police the citizens and act as guards for the prison camps did certainly help when the forced labor camps erupted into riots that summer. The rioters were ruthlessly purged, needless to say, and any and all suspected leaders were summarily executed as well after brief interrogations to see if they knew of any more instigators. This was to be only the beginning of such riots and their lethal suppressions, as more would-be leaders, really little more than malcontents with illusions of grandeur, rose to replace the old ones.

Barely two decades into the development of Praetor IV saw the refineries and factories bustling with activity, huge trails of inky smoke gushing from the various pipes and exhaust vents located on the roofs while the twisting serpent of new development continued to swallow up cleared land. Despite the occasional riot, and machinery failure things ran with a satisfactory smoothness, the pressure put on the governor easing as the stream of ore and, with the addition of oil pumps scattered amongst the yet-to-be-tamed northlands, crude petroleum shipped off-world was well within the expected limits. The Guardsmen assigned to the planet, still only four regiments strong for the whole world, became listless and undisciplined despite the efforts of the commissars, relegated either to mind-numbing prison duty or breaking up fights in public bars between workers. Field exercises, drill and target shooting could only do so much to hold this in check, the regimental commanders beginning to grow uneasy about this ever-increasing problem, wondering if perhaps rotating the troops between it and other worlds in the galactic region would break the monotony of duty for them.

It was not until the static-laced and frantic communication of one of the freighter ships reached the space port that it was discovered that the monotony would soon be at an end, as would a great many other things. An Ork Rok, flung far away from a winding-down Waaghh in a neighboring sector had become caught in the planet's gravitational pull, the Rok's defensive batteries of weapons the cause of the freighter's demise. An immediate distress call was halted as Governor Adna argued with his military counterparts as to the true extent of the threat the Rok posed them, or if they could crush them utterly without outside help. One less inconvenience for the Adminitratum to associate with his record as a planetary governor and one more feather in the caps for the regimental commanders, holding off an Orkish invasion with only the forces on site to work with. While it was agreed that the planetary defenders could use something to focus their attention on, and that they very well may be able to crush the Orkish forces, there was upwards of three million civilians and billions of credits of Imperium money invested on the planet to consider, and at the very least they should muster their forces as quickly as possible near the landing sites for the green menace and have the astropaths send out a broad message to all nearby ships and stations notifying them of the Ork presence and to stand by for further information regarding its strength and if assistance was needed.

It was decided, with some misgivings, that three full regiments would be scrambled to the ork landing zone as soon as the planetary sensors detected their orbital entry, while the last one would remain in the city of Gallahar in case the unthinkable happened and somehow the other three regiments were wiped out or the Orks somehow managed to slip by them. A fleet of amphibious Chimera would deliver the Guardsmen to the landing site, escorted by sixteen Catachan-pattern Sentinels suited for combat amongst thick forests. When at last the invasion began, drop ships streaking through the atmosphere followed by smoky plumes it was with a defiant roar that the engines of the Chimeras and the troops within their armored bellies left the city of Gallahar to enact their pre-emptive strike upon the invading horde. In the name of the Immortal Emperor, victory would be theirs.

Initial engagements were very favorable, the Orks capitulating readily from the sudden and vicious onslaught of three regiments getting their first taste of real combat in years. Pushing further into the swampy lands the Orks had landed in the greenskins began to mount stiffer and stiffer resistance, becoming more organized and better equipped as the Guardsmen approached the actual drop zone, closer to the center of Orkish power and organization, the Warboss. By the time the Guardsmen had approached to within four miles of the approximated drop zone the fighting was at a standstill, Orks and Guardsmen trading fire amongst massive trees, waist-deep in mud and vegetation. Just when it seemed like that Guardsmen were once again pushing forward explosions rocked their rear flank, no less than four Sentinels ripped apart by ordinance from a yet unknown source.

Confusion began to reign as Stormboyz dropped through the canopy above and set to work with pistol and axe on the command platoons, while the Kommandos who had rigged the Sentinels with their Tankbusta bombs slipped back into the jungle shadows. With the regimental commanders attention focused on the Orks that were cutting their way towards them the front line of Guardsmen began to waver, Killa Kans and Orky Dreadnoughts appearing through the thick gloom and, while their movement was slowed by the water-drenched terrain, they pressed ever closer like a stomping, shouting, shooting wall of metal plates and guns belching fire.

One commander was dead by the time the Stormboyz had been dealt with and some order restored to the chain of command, vox-transmitted orders slipping in amongst the crackling lasgun fire and the dull roar of flamers at work. The regiments held for a time, slowly withdrawing as the heavily armored mekz drew to within melee range, every Guardsmen's eyes on the scything saw blades and massive axes each Kan brought with it. Unsuited for anti-armor combat the Guardsmen saw even their massed laser fire doing little but scoring the metal of the armored behemoths as they began to cut their way through their lightly-armored ranks, unconcerned with the flamers of the Sentinels which continued to try and lend support to the infantry.

Eventually a call for a controlled retreat was ordered, the soldiers more than eager to give ground to the crudely fashioned metal killing machines already spattered with the blood of fellow Guardsmen. As more Orks from the landing site began to appear, automatic weapons chattering as bullets ripped through green foliage and uniform alike the retreat became a full and hasty one, the commissars shouting for order in the ranks but even a few prompt executions of those who turned their back on the enemy did nothing to slow the Guardsmen's flight, merely providing a wider variety of ways to die. The true horror of rout didn't become apparent until the Guard had traveled half a kilometer back from their previous location, when a squad was ripped apart with a thunderous roar and a huge gout of muddy water and debris. One more squad and another Sentinel shared the same fate before it was enough of a shock to the Guardsmen to stop their heedless running, to realize that Orks had filtered in behind their initial advance and mined their route back. Panic threatened to unhinge the survivors, trapped between the taunts and war cries of the approaching Orks and the silent but equally lethal booby traps laid out before them.

It was nearly an hour before the first ragged survivors exited the swamp, drenched in stagnant water with the screams of the dying filtering out of the canopy-shaded gloom behind them. What was to be a magnificent victory for the forces of Praetor IV had claimed more than three-quarters of the three regiments and all but five Sentinels. None of the commanders had survived the swamp either, picked out by the trailing Orkish mob and cut down with savage glee and surprising fore-thought for the usually simple and brutish greenskins. Demoralized and beaten the remaining Guardsmen grouped up into a large mass and made their way back to Gallahar, their pursuers breaking off once they had reached open ground.

There was only worried mutterings and looks of shock from the civilians as the remaining Guardsmen made it to the outskirts of Gallahar. They were met by the Fourth regiment of the Praetorian Protectors that had taken up fortified positions at the top of the massive highway that was used for ferrying personnel from the city to the vast industrial complex. Once the wounded were transported to the hospitals the last Regimental commander left alive, General Tal Dominik, and his officers began to file through the after-action reports the Guardsmen who survived were giving and preparing for the city's defense against what was now a vast superior force. The alert that had been issued prior to the rout was rapidly changed to a distress call and pushed to encompass a range that left many of the Astropaths exhausted to the point of collapse. The planet would fall to the Orkish invaders without outside aid…all that remained to be seen was how long the city could hold out.

Reluctant scouts were sent to monitor the Ork's progress while the city scrambled to establish defenses capable of holding the invaders at bay. Fortunately, some forethought had been taken into consideration when the primary city had been built, situated upon a large plateau with fortified perimeter walls and with only one land access, a slope that had been entirely paved into six lanes of road. Running right down the middle for transporting shifts of workers to the factories and refineries on the plains below was a single track rail system, long since shut down by the impending siege. Beneath the ground, though, a network of tunnels with more rail systems set up brought the refined ores and other manufactured goods into the city, entire rail cars transported up in freight elevators to be loaded upon one of the seven docks at the space port nestled at the heart of the city. It was with a firm hand that Commander Dominik declared that the tunnels would have to be sealed with explosives, a move that, if the city survived the assault, would take months to clear and repair. Governor Adna had to be restrained by his aides upon hearing this, made silent only by reminding him that it was his foolishness that had made such measures necessary. With tons of concrete, twisted metal and earth blocking the city's subterranean access whatever other explosives could be mustered were brought to the city causeway, turning the upper half of the broad highway into a minefield. Sand bags, giant land-moving machinery and traffic barricades were lined up along the crest of the slope, adding another layer to the city's defenses. Heavy weapons teams, automated Tarantula Sentry Guns and the remaining Sentinels that were still combat-ready took up positions at this barricade, ready to gun down any attempts to reach the city proper.

After tense days of preparing, the declaration of food rationing and a strict curfew every Emperor-fearing human on the planet was finally treated to some good news; like on so many seemingly doomed planets before it, salvation was coming in the form of the Emperor's finest warriors, Space Marines. The White Scars' battle barge _Wings of War_, which had been involved in opposing the original Waaghh these Orks had fled from, had heard the distress call. Their involvement in that conflict over, they would make a stop on Praetor IV before heading off to where-ever they were needed next. They would arrive in four days time, leaving, by the most reliable estimates, the defenders alone with the Ork forces at the fortifications for sixty-eight hours, give or take.

What follows is the tale of the liberation of Praetor IV from impending xeno conquest, beginning sixty-six hours into the siege of Gallahar.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:** **Timely Salvation**

Date: 7343459.M41

Location: Forward Barricade, Gallahar City causeway.

Trooper Donne Halward was tired. Exhausted maybe was the better word…spent, perhaps. What made these synonyms equally vexing to this Guardsman of the Praetorian Protectors, 4th Regiment, 2nd Company, 5th Platoon, 5th Squad, was that they extended not only to his physical condition, but to his lasgun's energy clips as well. He was tired of staring down the city causeway that was littered with the twisted and frequently burning wrecks of both Ork tracked vehicles and those that piloted them, tired of trying to look menacing with a rifle that he would have to use as a club rather than how it was intended every time the sergeant came by. Tossing the spent energy clips into a fire to give them a bit of a charge was something he had only _heard_ of before today, something he figured only those about to die and wanting to get a last few shots in before succumbing to the inevitable did. They had done it, almost all of them. With blackened and smoking clips practically fused inside the short-pattern lasguns they carried the rest of his company looked grim-faced over the concrete barricades pitted with ballistic impacts and scorched with flamer or plasma. No one had any grenades left, and they were rationed more fiercely than the food. The massive hydroponics facility that helped feed the population of Praetor IV was down there, _there_ where the greenskins had made camp, making themselves nice and cozy in amongst the outer edge of the massive complex, ready always to attack or defend, not that they had done a whole lot of the latter.

They had held them off for almost three days straight. It would have been four, or rather, they would have been over-run already if Commander Dominik hadn't decided to sent out what few snipers there were into the industrial complex below before the horde had arrived, keeping the Orks ducking and guessing rather than simply tearing through it, ripping off whatever components and materials they needed to further upgrade and customize their already lethal meks and shootas. These 'skins seemed even more geared up than the usual ones, more than half of them riding some sort of vehicle, or stomping around in a crude kans, their slovenly voices echoing hollowly from inside their armored suits. Any Ork not with their own vehicle, the ones with the heavy armor and biggest guns usually, hopped a ride in a war wagon or clinging to the side one of the other traks. Yeah, these Orks had been bitten by the "flash" bug pretty hard, a double edged sword when it came right down to it. On the one side they had spent a great deal of time within the industrial zone tinkering with their gear while the Planetary Governor pulled his hair out at the thought of those aliens tearing through the expensive circuitry and plumbing of the buildings down there, which gave the defenders some respite. On the other hand, however, when the Orks did come, barreling up the highway on their traks and trukks and meks, they were that much harder to repel.

Here Halward sat now with his back to a cold concrete barricade, out of shots, and looking to be using his combat knife against heavily-armored Ork boyz the next assault. He wasn't even comfortable he groused silently to himself, wiggling as something prodded his back most insistently, then suddenly remembering the tin of rations he had hidden in his pack. Deciding that in a few hours they would be dead or saved anyways he rifled through his rucksack and retrieved the chrome rectangle, rationing be damned. He squinted at the label, seeing that it promised a beef dinner with gravy, and although he knew that meant mechanically separated meat protein from Emperor-knows-what with a blob of gelatinized sauce dejectedly occupying one corner of the tin, right now, that sounded pretty good. Noting that a flamer with a nearly empty tank sat unoccupied on the asphalt a few feet from his position, a lazy orange flame flickering out the nozzle Halward unsheathed his knife and, after ratcheting open one corner of the tin, placed it on the flat of his blade. Tongue stuck out in concentration the Guardsman moved the blade to a position over the flamer's pilot light, letting it give a little bit of appetizing warmth to the MRE.

There was a light crunching of booted feet on bits of debris then, reaching his ears over the muted conversations of his fellows and the insistent beeping alarm of the Tarantula Sentry Gun beside him warning him for the third hour straight that its ammo bins needed to be replaced soon. They were heavy, deliberate footfalls, the pace of a man who held his authority close to him and who demanded respect from those around, and most importantly, under him. They were the footsteps of Sergeant Kharter. Those footsteps stopped as a pair of boots, still polished despite all of the insanity of the recent days, came into Halward's field of view, the trooper barely giving them a moment's glance. The gravy was beginning to fizzle and bubble a bit, this part requiring his utmost concentration.

" Trooper Halward! You are not scanning the perimeter like you were ordered to, you do not even have your weapon in your hands and you are breaking the rationing code, " the burly non-com listed off it sharp bites of conversation three syllables long. Then, more quietly, " Do you want to bring the Hangman down on the both of us? " he demanded, referring to the regimental Commissars who never seemed to stand out of ear, eye, or pistol shot range.

" Sarge, " Halward began with a haggard sigh, licking his lips as the "gravy" began to ooze over the sides of the tin and landed, sizzling, onto the blood-stained pavement, " my lasgun's useless, fried all the connectors on the clips when we fire-charged them, there's about two hundred pairs of eyes scanning the road right now 'cause no one can sleep and this is likely my last meal. Even convicts who murder people get a last meal, and what they get is better than this, let me tell you. If any Orks charge the barricade now I'll have a hot knife in hand and a hot meal in my belly, just give me a few breaths to chow down on this wonderfully awful tinned meat and you'll have your warm body back on the firing line. "

Those boots, those boots of command shifted uncomfortably for a few moments afterwards, then finally a voice, sounding as tired and resigned as Halward's own said; 

" Finish up quickly, soldier, sending you to the stockade would be like a vacation on a paradise world right now and killing you would put one less body between the Orks and the civvies. "

With that the polished boots left his field of vision, Halward blowing on the exposed portion of his meal to cool it enough to eat as he took it from the flame. A feast in one of the most scenic locations in the Imperium, this is why he joined the Imperial Guard.

Date: 7344459.M41

Location: Bridge of the _Wings of War_, battle barge 003 of the White Scars Chapter, in high orbit over Praetor IV.

" How many companies will you need, Brother-Captain Mauktaul? "

There was a sight rumbling on the bridge, as well as some quiet "puffs" of sound as more torpedoes were launched towards the Ork Rok, targeting its defensive batteries before a shuttle filled with a tactical squad from the Chapter's Second Company would fly over, deposit a large amount of melta bombs near what scanners had detected was a major power source for the converted asteroid, and leave. The timed explosives and shoddy Ork workmanship would tear the Rok apart, letting all those aboard taste the cold vacuum of the Emperor's mercy towards xenos. Bits of the Rok would get pulled into the planet's gravity well and cause a destructive meteor shower, but only over vast stretches of unpopulated wilderness by the best estimations of the ships' logic-engine. Let the fiery trails of their only transport away from the planet fill the Orks with desperate bravery, Mauktaul thought; it will make the victory all the sweeter when it arrives.

" The 6th and 7th, Commander, as well as my own 3rd, and Stormseer Phaeton to inspire the men. The reports we received from the world's Interior Guard regarding the Ork's heraldry leads me to believe we face Warboss Nytroblud from the Cappel System. We all noted a steep decline in mek and trukk support to the Ork infantry as we closed in on the main settlement, and the raids on the Ork power stations could have created enough smoke and flame to conceal a ship launch. "

" Those same reports also say that the Ork boss was killed by Sergeant Jormun of my company, 3rd squad. Do you doubt the word of one of your fellow battle-brothers? " Brother-Captain Kul of the chapter's 5th growled, fixing Mauktaul with a withering stare, " the beast's head sits even now in our war gallery, severed by chainsword and brute strength. "

" I do not dispute that Brother Jormun killed the Ork whose head now sits as a trophy, nor do I believe he was lying in order to further his own personal glory. He fought and killed an exceedingly large and well-equipped Ork, but these attacks on Praetor IV seem too familiar to me, like a tracks of a beast I have long hunted. If the central command structure of the Orks were indeed shattered with the death of their Warboss, the Interior Guard on the planet should not have fallen so easily to a new boss still trying to consolidate his power over the Waaghh's remnants. I believe Nytroblud is still alive, and responsible for the assault on the planet below us, " Mauktaul concluded, gauging the looks his fellow Brother-Captains gave him as he explained himself.

Those Space Marine captains assembled on the _Wings of War_'s bridge were all dressed in their fatigues rather than the white power armor they had all worn ceaselessly for the Cappel Sector campaign. Repairs, restocking the suit's life-support functions and careful cleaning carried out by the chapter's Techmarines ensured that the chapter's officers would always walk into battle protected, supported, and looking as awe-inspiring as possible. They stood around the central chart desk positioned at the very heart of the bridge, the cool blue of the holographic display showing the current deployment of both Ork and Imperial forces on the planet below as thick colored arrows, green for Orks, yellow for the Interior Guard. The rest of the chamber, by contrast, was suffused with harsh red light, making shadows absolute and reminding them that war and bloodshed were but a drop pod launch away at all times. Beyond the chart desk was a horse-shoe shaped array of logic-engine interfaces, star charts, and the padded cradles on hydraulic arms that housed the green-robed Astropaths, as vital to the running of the ship as its engines or air-recyclers. Specially-trained Servitors, all with slender cybernetic appendages in addition to their natural, fleshy ones, wove their limbs in a ceaseless rhythm as they received, assessed, and relayed all the data needed to run the ship's operations smoothly.

Brother-Captain Muaktaul was typical for his breed, standing over seven feet tall with a broad-shouldered frame packed with muscle earned from untold hours of conditioning, fighting and training. To say Garuss Mauktaul was handsome would be kind; his fierce, angular face and deep-set yet piercing eyes possessed more the look of a predator barely restraining itself from attacking than the ideal of masculine beauty. His face and head were shaved hairless, excepting his eyebrows and a topknot of brown hair some three feet in length sprouting from the back of his skull. His cheeks and brow bore markings barely perceptible in the light, thin white parallel lines down each lean cheek and a pair of longer ones angled up and away from his eyes. His skin, while impossible to tell in the crimson glow of the bridge, was deeply tanned, highlighting the pale ritual scars and telling of many hours spent under the sun.

" Regardless of whether Nytroblud leads this horde or not, they seemed well-coordinated and well-equipped, just like on Cappel Prime. They are a worthy foe, even if duty still calls us to other sectors, " Brother-Captain Dvun of the 6th company spoke up after a few long moments of consideration, " and if it is Nytroblud, I can think of few others I would follow as readily against him again as Brother Mauktaul. "

" Your praise honors me, Brother, " the captain of the 3rd company said humbly, bowing his head in respect.

" Do you have the vehicle and squad load-outs completed? " the deep, reverberating tone of Commander Kumi'tah asked, otherwise silent as his gaze, hidden by shadows of the massive hooded chair he sat in, saw that there were no more protests to this proposed military action.

" I do, " Mauktaul answered sharply, holding up a glowing dataslate he had behind his back before passing it off to a summoned Servitor to be delivered to the Techmarines and munitions officers.

" How long will you need? As Brother-Captain Dvun mentioned, duty calls us elsewhere and I will not have the Emperor's justice be delayed by a undeveloped planet on the very edge of His influence, " Commander Kumi'tah inquired tersely, seeing both the necessity of this battle and also irritated that they were unable to leave the region sooner.

" Deploy the forces three klicks due south of the city proper, in the open field here, " Mauktaul answered, pointing to an area on the holo-map, " as soon as they have been retrofitted with the specified armaments. I will crush the Orks in a single battle, and kill Nytroblud myself if the craven xeno dares to cross blades with me. I anticipate the _Wings_ _of War_ being able to enter the Warp again within the solar cycle, including the time for deployment and recovery. "

There were surprised whispers from among the assembled Marine officers, as well as a good many nods of approval.

" Bold and swiftly planned, Maultauk. Your plan comes with great risk, but the glory will be equally great _when_ you succeed, " Brother-Captain Kul spoke finally, emphasizing the operative word to remind his fellow officer that a failure would be attached to his name as indelibly as a victory. Garuss just nodded his head once in reply to that statement before continuing on.

" I would ask, however, of Brother Dvun to handle the deployment of the men as I have outlined in my stead until I and the Stormseer join them. "

" Oh? And where will you be during that time? " the Commander queried, concern and disapproval creeping into his voice.

Mauktaul grinned, rolling his shoulders as if loosening the tension in the joints.

" He and I will be delivering a message first, " he replied slyly.

Date: 7344459.M41

Location: Forward Barricade, Gallahar City causeway.

" Hold the line, damn you! "

Halward wished that Sergeant Kharter, Commissar Gelric, and all the others who were shouting the exact same thing would just shut their yaps and stop stating the obvious. Still, it looked like more than a few Guardsmen were considering falling back to the city walls, mostly the ones with bayonets fixed and not a spark of charge left in their lasgun clips. Soliders like Halward. The trooper knew that the assembled Orks would bypass the barricade easily and run them all down if they broke formation now. There was no running for them, and precious little hope. Stabbing out awkwardly with his five-inch steel knife Halward did little but scratch the driver of a trakk that had run the length of the barricade, shooting wildly at the defenders and laughing like it was the best day in the world for him. All the Orks seemed to be in high spirits, perhaps knowing from the grim, blood-shot eyes of the Guardsmen that the way to the city would soon be open to them and a slaughter could begin.

A light rain had been falling for nearly an hour now, the overcast skies screening out much of the fading light of the setting sun. Fires from burning debris and lamp-packs set atop empty supply crates or fixed into the lugs of those few lasguns that still had some shots in them provided light, as well as the muzzle flashes of Ork shootas. One other major source of light was the destroyed rail car sitting not twenty paces from Halward's position, having been cheerily burning for some time. Some wit amongst the Orks had decided a good way to ram the barricade was to attach a bunch of Stormboy rokkits to the back of the rail car, cram it full of boys, and launch it up the rails towards the barricade. To their credit it had almost worked, the passenger car roaring up the track with a shower of sparks issuing out from the wheels, the Orks inside shouting and shooting as they approached the defenders the only way they liked to; rapidly. What had happened, however, was that when the rail car cleared the rise of the hill it promptly slammed into a industrial-sized bulldozer, pushing the heavy machinery back a meter or so and sending every Ork inside slamming into either the floor, another Ork, or a hand rail. Before they could properly re-orient themselves two Sentinel operators launched their walkers forward, opening up with their heavy flamers.

The greenskin's screams of delight soon changed to agony as liters of enriched promethium coursed over the sides of the car, cooking that which it did not initially incinerate. Halward didn't like Orks one bit, but hell, that was a poor way to go. The stench of burnt Ork flesh, plastic, glass and metal had washed over roughly half of the barricade defenders, and Halward had fought like hell to keep his meal down. Judging by the dried brown puddle of mush near his feet now, he had lost that fight just like they were about to lose this one. The thing that burned him, not in the flamer sense, though, was how their saviors, those Space Marines, the Emperor's finest, were still floating around up in orbit while the Guard where down here bleeding and dying. Halward spat and cursed under his breath. " Useless, over-trained, toy-crazy…. "

The Guardsman's string of epitaphs was interrupted by a screaming whine from somewhere above his head. _This is it_, he thought, _the Orks brought artillery and there's going to be a smoking crater with my boots in it in about half a second._ Someone to his right shouted out "Drop pod! " and despite the threat menacing them not meters away many Guardsmen craned their necks skyward. Like a bolter round punching through unarmored flesh an elongated spheroid burst through the cloud cover, the condensation steaming once it struck the metal sides made hot from entry into the planet's atmosphere. True to the trajectory calculated miles above them aboard the battle barge the pod slammed into the asphalt nineteen meters behind the Guardsmen's line, with enough force to make teeth rattle and lamp-packs topple of their perches on the tops of crates.

Like rigid petals of a flower opening four ramps unlatched moments after the pod had come to a rest on the planet's surface, allowing the troops housed within, usually a full tactical squad of Marines, to disembark and enter combat almost immediately. Only two figures exited the pod, however, clad in bulky white armor with red markings and each bearing a long staff. Halward felt a guilty sense of joy wash over him as he saw the two exit the craft, relief that finally help had arrived, guilt because he had, not moments before, been cursing the very same men. A cheer rose up from the assembled Guardsmen even as two more of their number died because they had left cover to do so. Deliverance was at hand.

The two Marines strode unhurriedly from the drop pod, nevertheless covering the distance between it and the barricade quickly with their long stride. The one with the topknot's eyes moved ceaselessly as he appraised the situation, his face set in a mask of utmost concentration. As they drew closer Halward could see the top of his staff, looking as if a chain sword had been grafted to the top of it, giving it all the punch of a melee weapon with the added reach of a spear or lance.

The one beside and slightly behind him had a look of manic calm on his face, his eyes looking straight ahead, head cradled by a dizzying array of colored wires attached to the sides of his skull with electrodes. A narrow, feathery beard originating from around his lips drifted to the left from the prevailing winds, the only hair on his face besides his bushy eyebrows. The second man's staff looked more ornamented than the first's, with the top crowned by a quad of metal flanges that were shaped to resemble the elongated head of some herbivorous animal. From the very top of the haft sprouted a long plume of chestnut hairs, also drifting slightly to the left as the wind caught it. The pair came to a stop as one, three meters from the barricade, not moving or speaking.

Finally Commissar Gelric, stooped to avoid incoming fire, ran over to the pair, saluting them briskly. Halward was privy to his every word, being only a few paces away.

" Welcome to Praetor IV, Captain, we've been anticipating the arrival of the Emperor's finest for some time now. What are your orders? "

The one with the skull-topped staff merely looked the Commissar up and down, like he were trying to remember his name from a previous encounter. The other Marine, the captain, said nothing as well, eyes still surveying the Orks as they tore around wildly just beyond the barricade. Shifting his weight uncomfortably, the Commissar pressed further.

" How would like us to proceed? " Gelric asked, louder this time, even the nerves of a Commissar frayed by the non-stop fighting and the unflappable calm the two new arrivals possessed without regard for the desperate situation before them.

" We're dying here! Call down some more men! " a Guardsman from the far end of the line shouted out over the chattering of Ork shootas. The relief that Halward had felt when the pair had first arrived began to melt under the heat of his rising anger. How could they just stand there like a couple of Ogryns asked to explain how nuclear fission worked while the Orks were about to break through the barricade? The Marine captain's expression finally changed, a slight smile on his lips as he turned his head to regard his companion, who only nodded knowingly back to him.

" Why don't do something you...! " Halward began, his rage finally bubbling over to form words. He didn't hear what the Marine captain had said as he inclined his head down towards the collar of his power armor, but saw it quite clearly. It was one word;

" Fire. "

The moments of confusion were ended as bits of broken concrete, Ork meks and shoota casings suddenly, unaccountably, began to drift upwards gently about a dozen meters from the barricade. The Orks paid no mind to it until a pillar of incandescent light roughly the size of a Chimera sudden struck down from the heavens at that location, burning through the cloud cover and leaving a massive hole in it for a long breath afterwards. Matter, organic or otherwise vaporized instantly where the beam touched, leaving ghostly, stark images of writhing Orks for the blink of an eye before they were rent asunder. More beams lanced down from above, like the righteousness of the Emperor had suddenly been made manifest to strike down his foes, sending the greenskins careening about randomly to try and avoid their fate. The four-inch thick asphalt was reduced to molten puddles of steaming blackness where ever the energy beams struck, turning metal to slag, as they chewed and consumed large circular swathes of reality with each strike. A renewed cheer went up from the throats of the Guardsmen as the Ork forces began to flee, chased by a few scattered bolts and the slender after-images that lingered in the wake of a beam's initial burst. The smell of charred Ork flesh reached Halward's nose once again, but he did mind it too much this time. He had nothing left in his stomach to lose anyways.

Looking very satisfied with himself the Marine captain finally regarded Commissar Gelric, giving him only the slightest of nods.

" Your men preformed well. The city will not fall this day or any other thanks to your sacrifices and devout belief in the righteousness of the Emperor. Hold your heads high, Guardsmen. "

Halward was about to join in another cheer when something moving to his right caught his attention. An Ork, having been thrown forward and over the barricade as the trak he was on had slammed forward to avoid the orbital bombardment was getting to his feet, pistol shoota and choppa still firmly in his grasp. Holding up his knife to defend himself the Marine captain suddenly barked out a "Hold your fire! " as he tapped the butt end of his chain spear against the ground, getting the adamantine teeth moving with a rattling whine. Shaking its brutish head to clear what passed for the Orkish brain the boy cast his eyes over all of them as the Guardsmen regarded him in kind, the power-armored solider moving towards him quickly getting his sole attention.

" Youse humies cheeted! We wuz havin' a nice and proper slug-out when youse called down your stinkin' flash from yer spacey ship, now the boss is gonna be right pissed! " the green-skinned alien bellowed, brandishing its slug-thrower at the Marine captain.

Halward would describe the Marine's facial expression as somewhere between contempt and sadistic amusement as he moved into striking range. The boy spoke next with his shoota, not caring about accuracy, merely to throw shells in the Marine's direction. The chain-spear dropped down swift and sure, slicing through the Ork's wrist with a spray of brackish alien blood. Roaring in pain and anger the greenskin regarded the severed appendage as it squeezed off a few more shots before going limp on the pavement at his feet. The xeno's body reacted to the blood loss quickly, the gush becoming a strong trickle within moment. Using the pain to bolster its flagging morale the Ork tried another attack, lashing out with its axe with enough force to cut a Guardsman from the shoulder to the waist. Using the chain spear as easily one-handed as Halward would his knife the Marine captain countered the clumsy swing with a precise one of his own, and soon the Ork's other weapon, as well as his arm from the elbow down, was at his feet .

" Rotten, stinkin' hum…. " the boy began, but his tirade was cut short as the Marine lunged forward and, with his free hand, fastened it around the Ork's thick neck, choking him quite effectively. The alien flailed weakly, severed wrist thumping against the Marine's unbending arm.

" I do not fight filth, xeno, I burn it. I noticed that your meks bear the double arrow on them. Is Nytroblud your Warboss? " he asked, eyes boring into the Orks' and giving a squeeze to emphasize his words. The alien gurgled a bit then nodded once.

" Good. You are now my messenger. Go to your boss and tell him to bring every boy, trak, mek, and kan he can muster and meet us on the plains south of the city at sunrise. He will have his proper fight there, the fight he ran from on Cappel Prime, and it is there I will kill him. Your Rok is destroyed, your only way off this planet is through the space port in the city, and the only way to the space port is through us. Defeat us and our ship will leave and the planet will be yours, so tell them to fight well, " the White Scar captain sneered, and with a heaving motion tossed the Orkboy back over the barricade.

The Ork stumbled to his feet, twisting around as he glared hatefully at the man who had tossed him. Gesturing with his right stump he spoke before jogging away.

" I'm gonna gets me sum new 'ands from the Dok, den I'm gonna strangle you till yer eyes bug outta yer 'ead! " he vowed, scampering down the causeway turned into a hellish graveyard for his fellows.

" You didn't seriously mean what you said to him, about leaving the planet… " Commissar Gelric asked, his face hard. The engine of his chain spear winding down as he turned the Marine captain began to walk, regarding the Imperial Guard officer from the corner of his eye as he passed him.

" Do you doubt the will of the Emperor? Do you believe that this xeno rabble can defeat His finest warriors? "

The Commissar had only one answer to that; " No, of course not, just… "

" That which is said and will never happen is a lie, so I have lied to him. "

Gelric said nothing after that, merely snapping to attention and saluting as the white-armored pair walked towards the city, leaving behind them the remnants of the road, the barricade, and the Praetorian Protectors' 4th Regiment.

Date: 7344459.M41

Location: Regimental HQ, Gallahar City.

The sigh of relief that Commander Dominik exhaled as he slumped into a synth-leather chair was one a long time in coming. Doffing his cap he ran his fingers through thinning blonde hair, breaking the feeling that he still wore the constrictive head piece. Communications from the Space Marine ship orbiting overhead, as well as vox transmissions from the forward barricade all promised that the Ork's grip on the world was nearing an end. They were not in the clear yet, the White Scars had to yet do battle with the bulk of the Orkish horde, and while he had no doubts that they would succeed, the task of rebuilding the planet's military and industry would take years, possibly decades. First and foremost, food was in scarce supply, the city relying primarily on a treatment plant and a single protein synthesizing facility to give food and water to its millions of citizens. The battle barge was able to help a bit, but after coming from an extended campaign themselves they could spare little in the way of resources. The planetary Astropaths had sent requests directly to holy Terra with lists of what would be needed to rebuild the colony teetering on the brink of disaster, and only time would tell what aid would be sent and how quickly. The regimental commander could say this though; to remove the Ork presence from Praetor IV and not receive aid for the rebuilding afterwards would be like performing surgery to remove a tumor and not sewing the incision closed afterwards.

He was proud of how his regiment had come through, everybody from the privates to his XO who even now continued to give leadership to the scattered and demoralized forces they commanded. Dominik had to be perfectly frank with himself though, it was only by the grace of the Emperor and some hard choices that they weren't barricading the door to the room right now, waiting for a greenskinned horde to barge through it. All of the snipers he had sent into the industrial complex had not come back, swallowed up by the brutal tide of aliens as they marched on the city. He would personally see to it that every one of them was at the very least nominated for a Medallion Crimson, just a pity he would not be able to pin the medal on their breast himself. A bleary-eyed junior officer entered the room through the door on the commander's right, scanning the room for him and, upon locating him slouched in his chair, approached. His stance and salute were lack-luster, but given the circumstances and his current location, Dominik would let it slide.

" Sir! Two Marines of the White Scars chapter are requesting to speak with you, a Brother-Captain Mauktaul and Chief Librarian Phaeton. "

Fixing his cap back on his head with a slight twist to secure it back on the angry red band around his brow that it had left Dominik stood with a slight wince. His return salute was a half-hearted gesture.

" Thank you, lieutenant, show then in and you are ordered to get some sleep, enough for the both of us, "

The young officer's shoulders slumped slightly as he heard this, nodding briskly once.

" Yes sir, best command I've heard all day. "

The lieutenant had scarcely made it to the door when he dodged aside as the aforementioned Marines shouldered their way through the doorway, having to stoop slightly to avoid breaking the door frame. They were a suitably impressive looking pair, making Dominik stand a little straighter in their presence.

" Your presence is a welcome balm to the heart and minds of my men, Marines, how may we assist you driving these wretched xenos from our world? "

The captain, Mauktaul, his bars and name clearly painted on the left breast of his power armor said nothing at first, surveying the room, his gaze lingering on the holodesk in the middle of it from which the defense had been coordinated.

" The White Scars will shoulder the weight of battling the Orks now, Commander, I suggest you tend to your wounded and dead. We want our drop pod moved from the front-line barricade to the space port so that it may be retrieved when we leave

tomorrow. Keep a tight watch on the industrial zone to watch for stragglers and infiltration units, but otherwise hold your positions are they are now. "

" It will be done. My men are tried, Captain, but given some time to rest and recharge their lasguns I would have roughly half a regiment and perhaps five Sentinels ready to stand with you to push this invading filth from our lands. "

" That won't be necessary, Commander, " Mauktaul said slowly, almost dismissively,

" perhaps some forward observers if you wish to record picts of the battle for your own benefit, but your troops would only slow us down. "

Dominik bristled at the comment, but reminded himself that the captain likely spoke the truth, regardless of how callously it was delivered. He knew well enough the favored tactics of the White Scars, their lighting strikes, hit-and-run maneuvers, not even the Sentinels would be able to keep up to fight effectively as a whole.

" I understand, Captain. Emperor be with you. "

" We act in His name, and His grace guides us always, " was the reply, the Captain turning to leave. Dominik felt the eyes of the Librarian on him, and turned his head to return the gaze. Stormseer Phaeton smiled slightly, Dominik noting for the first time that his teeth had been filed to points, giving him a very unsettling appearance.

" Ease your troubled mind about your men and your city, Tal Dominik. His torchbearers are here now, and will banish this darkness with righteous flame. "

The regimental commander kept his expression fixed, knowing how powerful the Space Marine psykers were and the depths which they could plumb a man's mind. He had nothing to fear, his faith steadfast, but no amount of faith could completely banish the hundred thousand little doubts that arose every day. Staying for only a moment longer than was comfortable the Librarian then left as well, the staff of his rank thumping against the floor in a regular cadence down the hall. Noting that the rest of this staff had ceased in their work to watch the exchange Dominik grunted;

" Get back to your duties, I'll be in my office. "

There was a stiff shot of Amasec waiting for him in there, and a whole lot dataslates to go through. He may yet be able to see the inside of this eyelids for a satisfactory amount of time before the next morning.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Lightning Strikes**

Date: 7344459.M41

Location: White Scars Forward Base, Praetor IV

Night found the three Brother-Captains of the companies to be involved in the battle stood under a large palatine tent made of the skins of giant herbivores from their home world and decorated with symbols and runes sacred to both the chapter and the primitive spirits their ancestors had worshipped. The light rain that had fallen for the latter half of the day had all but ceased now, much to the relief of those assembled. Trying to maneuver their combat bikes and infantry when the field was a massive bog would have seriously compromised their edge against the more numerous and heavier armored Orks.

The chart table that emitted a holographic map identical to the one that they had viewed aboard the _Wings of War_ stood in the middle of them, Garuss's carefully laid plan standing out clearly against the azure hologram, each critical movement outlined in phases which it endlessly cycled through, each squad clearly marked with a tiny banner denoting its company, type, and load-out. The rest of the companies were going about their various duties, tense and eager for the morrow's battle, their white power armor making them seem like bulky ghosts in the distance. Mauktaul shifted his weight, the motion causing the mud under his boot to squelch annoyingly, the sound prompting Dvun of the 6th Company to speak.

" Thanks be to Khan and Emperor for a break in the rain. I would not have liked to try and enact your battle plan out in deep mud. As it stands we will still have some difficulty, and the cleaning afterward will be tedious, but it will keep the men from becoming idle while on our way to the next conflict. "

There were murmurs and nods at his statement, most of all from Mauktaul, who, much to his internal chagrin, had failed to bear such matters in mind. It would be a long time before he made that mistake again, hopefully not before his death. Deciding to push the matter from his mind the Captain of the 3rd Company swept his gaze over his two fellow Marines, both of which he had fought beside for close to a century.

" I understand I will be expecting a lot from you, from your sergeants and from each and every Marine under our collective command, but I wouldn't have proposed such a plan had I not the utmost confidence in their abilities. I regret that our intel on the disposition and size of the Ork horde is suspect at best, but I anticipate being out-numbered at least ten-to-one. A pity for them that each of ours is worth twenty of their best, " Mauktaul stated with a ghost of a smile on his lips.

" You give the Orks too much credit, Brother, but to be truthful Nytroblud's boys seem a little cagier than the average Ork. Their Kult of Speed forces handle their traks well, and unlike much their misbegotten race they understand the purpose and reason for a feint, " Captain Skarl of 7th Company rumbled, a man big even for a Space Marine, his skin the nut brown of the tribesmen of the upper steppes back on Chogoris, his scars ridged lines along his cheeks and brow.

" Regardless, our scout bikes will be able to give us better information once it is light and we have precious few hours between first engagement and now. Let us brief our companies and speak less of the merits of one particular enemy over another. In the end they are all but obstacles to our purpose out here amongst the stars. The Emperor protects and the Primarch watches, " Dvun said in parting, ducking low under the edge of the tent's hem which still glistened with beads of water in the faint light. He was always like that before a critical battle, drilling his men over and over regarding their orders and contingency plans, but once he was actually on the battlefield he was focused solely on seeing those orders carried out, almost to the point of obsessive mania.

" Well said and well advised. See you tomorrow at dawn, " Skarl agreed, forced to push the tent's edge up as well as stoop to avoid it, leaving Mauktaul alone with his holographic map. The Marine Captain stabbed a button at one corner with a finger sheathed in thick ceramite and watched as the image on the chart table flickered out like a gutted candle. There was time enough for one final check on his equipment, a few prayers to the Emperor for guidance, and several of hours of sleep.

Mauktaul's hand was mere inches away from the haft of his chain spear when a series of explosions suddenly erupted far to his left, where most of the assembled land speeders from the three companies were at rest. Immediately Marines were racing to the scene and some sporadic bolter fire could be heard over the dying roar of the fiery blasts. Grabbing his weapon Mauktaul launched himself into a full run as well, clods of mud flying off the soles of his boots. The brilliant orange plumes were dissipating into grey smoke lost amongst the cloud cover that still hung brooding over the region by the time the captain had made it within sight range of the source of the explosion. Three land speeders lay in smoking ruin, the ragged metal edges looking as much melted as they were torn by the force of the blast. A full squad from his very own 3rd company were scanning the perimeter with their bolter rifles raised, and it was not so dark that Mauktaul could not see that they had been fired recently.

" Man down! Call for the Apothecaries! " one of them shouted over his shoulder, a sergeant by his markings, taking his eyes off the surrounding gloom for but a moment.

From his position Mauktaul could indeed see a white foot belonging to a power armor suit lying beside one of the heaps, and took up the call as well.

" Here, captain! " a voice called from close behind him, one of the chapter's medics only half-dressed in his own power armor suit jogging up beside him, narthecium field kit in hand. Knowing the medic would need no prompting to begin performing his duties Mauktaul stood clear and instead approached the non-com whom he recognized now as Sergeant Cassir, 5th squad.

" Make your report, sergeant, " Garuss ordered tersely, Techmarines swarming the vehicles with canisters of flame-retardant foam to douse any open flames.

" We were on guard as ordered, Captain, we had paused to exchange a few words with the Techmarine working on these speeders, and then Brother Vress said he spotted something to our nine o'clock, twenty meters out. We had barely got our heads and weapons turned around when there was a blur of movement and the sound of metal-on- metal. We opened up on the infiltrator as it fled, but seconds later the explosion had us all ducking. Once it was over we moved to this position and found two men down, another Techmarine and one of the speeder pilots from 7th Company. Nothing else to report sir, you can see the rest, " the grim-faced sergeant finished, gesturing with his head to the wreckage.

" Ork saboteurs, " the voice of Captain Skarl broke in, coming to a stop a pace away from Mauktaul, " the Imperial reports said they had suffered attacks at their rear flank from Kommandos using melta bombs during their assault on the Ork landing zone. Far too sneaky and under-handed for my sensibilities, " he snorted in contempt.

" But a valid strategy nevertheless. Sergeant, I will have your stripes if you don't tell me how an Ork managed to sneak to within spitting distance of the camp with you on

patrol! " Garuss snarled, taking a step towards the non-com and, while they stood at roughly the same height, Mauktaul seemed to tower over his brother Marine. The sergeant looked as if he had been struck, his expression of shock soon becoming one of staid acceptance. It had been his responsibility, after all.

" Captain, I accept full responsibility for the death or injury of my fellow Marines while they were under my charge. I should have been doubly vigilant when our camp was but two klicks from our enemy's, I figured that the flat terrain and with Ork's usual lack of patience, that…. " Cassir began, unable to meet his commander's eyes, but was interrupted in perhaps the only way something of this gravity could be interrupted by; another explosion. This one was far to the south of the camp and sounding like many, smaller reports than only a couple of large ones.

" By the Emperor! " Muaktaul said with equal parts rage and concern. Then, inclining his head towards his power armor's collar, spoke on the central vox system.

" Company sergeants! Apothecaries! I want every Marine with their eyes open and a bolter in their hands, secure my camp's perimeter! Squad bike squads, mount up and await orders to pursue infiltrators! I will not be picked apart piece-meal by filthy

xenos! "

His string of orders met a multitude of affirmations from all over the camp, Garuss then turning his attention back to the sergeant, but only for a moment. " Sergeant Cassir! You will face disciplinary action when time permits, right now get your squad out on the perimeter and this time keep your eyes open! "

" Yes sir! " the non-com answered morosely, double-timing it with his squad it tow to the outer edge of the camp.

" Apothecary, how fares our wounded? " Mauktaul inquired tersely, looking to the crouching medic.

" Not good, Brother-Captain. Techmarine Yilhenna died instantly from the blast, I can't tell where ceramite ends and bone begins. Brother Jhu'shan is still alive, but barely. He will require extensive cybernetic reconstruction and therapy to once again return to the field, if ever. He may yet request the Emperor's Peace once he regains consciousness, " the Apothecary stated grimly, his lips set into a firm line and his eyes raging with emotion as he grieved even now over the death and injury suffered by his comrades. Muaktaul merely nodded in response. Jhu'shan was well within his rights to request that he die rather than be an unproductive member of the chapter, barely twenty years of service rendered before _this _happened to him.

" Understood, Apothecary. Call down a Thunderhawk and get Jhu'shan back to the battle barge to see what they can do for him up there, as well as Brother Yilhenna's corpse and equipment. His gene-seed and weapon will serve the chapter still. "

" Yes, Captain. " the Space Marine medical officer confirmed, with solemn reverence grasping the handle of the pincer-like Reductor from his narthecium and beginning to pry charred metal from burnt flesh, seeking out one of the two Progenoids within Yilhenna's body. An unpleasant but necessary task, and one left solely in the hands of the chapter's Apothecaries. Mauktaul waited only long enough to be sure that at least one of the precious gene-seeds would be safely withdrawn before stalking off to the area of the camp where the most recent attack had taken place.

Rows of regulation tents occupied this side of the White Scar's forward base. They were only allotted four hours a night in which to sleep, and every Marine, thanks to rigorous self-discipline and the Catalepsean Node implant, could go up to two weeks without sleep if necessary. Such measures were pretty extreme, however, and Mauktaul preferred to keep his Marines at their very best before a major battle. A small cluster of White Scars with an Apothecary caught his attention and he strode towards them, eyes scanning the darkness past them and chain-spear held firmly to be used at a moment's notice. He received three brisk salutes from the trio of Marines, the Captain noticing that the two non-Apothecaries sported fresh wounds on their faces, looking perfectly alert and able otherwise.

" Report, " Garuss commanded to no one in particular, looking them over. The Apothecary had a pair of slender metal tongs in his fingers, a gory bit of metal clenched between the two pincers.

" Captain, " the elder of the two Marines began, lowering his hand to his side once again. " Ork infiltrators tossed a bundle of frags into the middle of the sleeping quarters. Everyone is present and accounted for, only minor cuts and scrapes like this to show for it, " he informed, gesturing to both his own face and that of his companion. " Against regular troops their would have been casualties, but they underestimated how tough both the tents and the Marines in them were, thank the Khan. "

Mauktaul nodded in agreement. He could do with a few less dead Marines.

" Did anyone get a positive sighting? "

The Marine paused in his speech momentarily as the Apothecary reached forward with the tweezers and deftly plucked another bit of sharp metal from one of the wounds, the man not even flinching as he did so, nor did the wound bleed, instantly clotting.

" Yes Brother-Captain. One of us spotted an infiltrator dashing back to the cover of the trees, and we opened up. Half of 4th squad went to up confirm the kill, with squads three and one providing cover. They are still there if you wish to see for yourself, " the injured Marine finished, pointing to the camp's southern perimeter, only paces away. An evenly spaced line of fully armored Marines stood along it, heads sweeping back and forth along the distant foliage for even the tiniest sign of movement.

" As you were, " Mauktaul said with a curt nod, " Get patched up and join the patrols. They'll be no sleep tonight men. "

" Yes Captain, " the three said as one, saluting again as the Apothecary finished his work.

Garuss moved further along the row of tents so straight they looked to have been pitched with laser guidance, coming up to the line of Marines and, as two of them twisted about so he could pass through, walked towards where several Marines had taken up a defensive half-circle. Around what, Mauktaul could not readily see. His boots sloshing and slurping in the mud he came to a stop several paces from them, looking to the ground to see what they had felled.

" Brother-Captain, one confirmed kill. Unarmored Ork with two frag grenades, a long knife of questionable craftsmanship, and a bolt pistol of some sort, " one of the three listed off mechanically, taking his hand off of his weapon only long enough for a lighting quick salute and to gesture at the neat pile of mud-splattered weaponry on the sodden ground. True to standard procedures the Marines had put a bolter round between the Ork's eyes and immediately placed the xeno's weapons well out of easy reach. One could never be too careful or sure around a supposedly dead Ork.

The outline of the corpse was difficult to see even with Mauktaul's enhanced vision, the Ork having smeared the entirety of its barely-clad body with a thick layer of mud so that not an inch of green showed. This would act as perfect camouflage against the dark ground, and would mask its thermo-graphic profile as well considering how thickly it was applied. Crouching down for a closer look Garuss peered at the inflitrator's teeth, its jaw slack in death. Even the Ork's many teeth and the inside of its mouth had been dyed black somehow, looking to be a permanent change than just for this particular mission. Mauktaul had never heard of such a thing, in all the myriad reports and stories he had heard of involving Orkish behavior. This Ork, and his fellows--as the Captain refused to believe that only one xeno was capable of all this--showed a patience and dedication to a very un-Orky form of warfare that troubled him greatly.

" Captain, I suggest we get back to the perimeter. I've never heard of an Ork sniper, but if I were them I'd use the death of a comrade to try and lure a commander out of position and attempt something, " the Marine who had saluted him warned, still scanning the shadows.

" Quite right, Marine. Bring the xeno as well, and his equipment so that it may be properly destroyed. There may be those in the Ordo Xenos who was interested to see if this Ork it a mutation or the dyeing was ritualistic. "

The Marines scrambled to carry out his orders, one clenching the inflitrator's weapons in one palm, leaving the other free to hold his bolter rifle. Another grasped the Ork corpse by the wrist and began to drag it, while the third slowly back-pedaled, sweeping the muzzle of his bolter over the darkened surroundings. Mauktaul walked with them, casting his gaze around as well, silently daring any lingering Ork Kommandos to show themselves. Had they, that last thing they would have thought was how brutal and swift an angered White Scar could be.

Date: 7345459.M41

Location: White Scars Forward Base, Praetor IV

Dawn was nothing but a grey promise on the planet's clouded horizon when the White Scars began their final equipment checks and mustered for deployment. Their scout bikes had torn dark, criss-crossing paths along the slate-hued mud of the plain as they performed their duties, confirming that indeed a large Ork force was gathered just outside the edge of the industrial complex. They were some three-and-a-half thousand strong, even the keen-eyes scouts admitting that the horde was such a shifting morass of green skin and roaring vehicles that their numbers could be slightly smaller than estimated. There also apparently didn't seem to be any reserves or artillery standing by, the scouts daring shoota fire to confirm this.

Brother-Captain Garuss Mauktaul was standing atop his custom built chariot, a heavily modified war bike with the rear of the normally two-wheeled vehicle expanded to include a space for the officer to stand and an angular, waist-high ceramite rim along the front and sides. The severed head of Tyranid Warrior head, a trophy of a past campaign, adorned the very front with a lightning bolt carved into its chitinous brow, adding its fearsome visage to the appearance of the unusual cycle. Other emblems and symbols decorated the outside of the chariot's protective rim, while the inside contained a vox system for relaying orders, hand-grips for steadying the rider, and a twin-linked bolter pistol in a metal holster welded onto the left side. The entirety of the rear component rolled on two thick tires of its own, sacrificing some maneuverability, but giving its skilled passenger free use of his long, deadly weapon without needing to control the direction of the vehicle.

Muaktaul could handle a standard combat bike with the same awe-inspiring skill that any fully-trained White Scar could, tearing open foes with a mixture of firearm and power lance and then slipping clear in the blink of an eye. However, since becoming a Brother-Captain, Garuss had found that his more obvious profile and ability to issue orders without having to first move himself clear of danger kept his men at their very best, and so cast aside the heady thrill of carrying himself forward in a thunderous charge like he had in years past. If it meant more Marines were alive after the battle, he would make that sacrifice time and time again.

All around him the White Scars companies had set up as they had been briefed, the thrum of their engines vibrating the air around him, the teeth within his mouth, the bones in his body. He shivered at the thought of the battle that was about to begin, reducing all of the complexities of life down to their most primal levels. Faith was no longer words in books or in sermons, but what you needed to live to see the next second of life. Courage was not some cold, distant thing spoken about over a grave, but coursed through the veins as thick as blood, urging the next step forward, the next strike. He and all his Brothers lived for this, and would gladly die for it too, as long as the day was won for the Khan and the Emperor.

" Placing the bait, commanders. You know what do to, " Mauktaul said over his armor's vox system, banging the haft of his chain spear on the chariot's floor as a signal to start forward.

" The riders of the White Scars will not fail, not now, not ever, " Captain Dvun responded, revving the engine of his combat bike to emphasize his words.

" This plan seems almost a waste to use on this rabble, but we will see it done, Brother, " Skarl 'tsked' over his own vox caster, standing atop the seat in his Typhoon variant Land Speeder.

Mauktaul steadied himself as the modified war bike picked up speed, coming up on the three Rhino transports, designated Alpha, Beta and Delta, that were the lynch pin of the first phase of his battle plan. The three armored troop transports sat a good half-kilometer ahead of the rest of the White Scar forces, seemingly alone and unsupported.

" Brothers, my share of honor for this battle I gladly give to you. You will be in the thickest of the fighting from the very beginning, and what's more you will be without the mobility that we prize above all else. You will feast with myself or the Khan after this battle, so give everything you have and be merry for it, " Garuss shouted as he passed between two of them.

" What is the terror of death, that we die our work incomplete, " a voice, grim and steady responded to him over his power suit's vox, sounding hollow as it bounced around the interior of the Rhino. It took Mauktaul only a moment to recognize it as Sergeant Cassir, still with his squad and in the steel bowels of Rhino Delta. He would likely lose his command once they were back aboard the _Wings of War_, but then again, there would be plenty of opportunities for him to prove his worth anew very shortly.

The mechanized chariot then departed from any sort of cover or support, steadily covering the ground between the White Scar forces and the cacophony of shootas, trak engines and bloodthirsty Ork screams ahead, a small speck of white against a sea of grey mud. They were just as the Scouts had described, ten times their number and barely controllable after their admittance to the city was denied, the Speed Freaks tearing restless grooves into the soft earth as they waited for the order to advance. Mauktaul's approach had garnered a fair bit of attention from the Orkish forces, as he had hoped. His apparent vulnerability would set the precedent for the Rhinos, some easy bit of carnage that the horde could sink their collective teeth into. Small divots of mud traced their way towards him, bullets thrown from some over-eager boy on the left flank. Mauktaul did not flinch as they sparked off the rim of his armored enclosure, more than certain that Ork's notorious inaccuracy and his superior armor would keep him from harm.

They drove until they came to within two hundred yards of the xeno forces, at such a distant every snarling face and every guttural word easily discernable.

" Slow, but do not stop, just as we planned, " Mauktaul said quietly to his driver, Brother Aphyr.

" Yes, my Captain. They will not over-take us. "

Aphyr turned the chariot so that it drove parallel to the Orkish line, excitement rather than fear slipping through his nerves at the prospect of what was to come.

Garuss swivled his head and torso to face the loathsome greenskins as more shots pinged against his vehicle and dug into the ground around him, but neither Marine gave any indication of trying to avoid it.

Finally, Mauktaul spoke, the speakers located on the sides of his armored stand carrying his voice along the entirety of the Orkish horde.

" I know you, Waaghh of Cappel Prime. I know your warboss as well; Nytroblud the Fasta, Nytroblud the Red, Nytroblud the Coward! " the Brother-Captain roared at the mob, receiving an angry wall of noise in response.

" Where is he? Why is he not at the very front of your lines, leading the charge? I come before you alone, unafraid, but where is your leader? Show yourself! " Garuss continued.

Shootas chattered, chewing up the ground around his chariot, and a few plumes of mud erupted nearby from poorly aimed rokkits impacting. One round from a particularly heavy caliber weapon struck Mauktaul in the upper torso near his shoulder, causing him to grunt in pain and stagger backwards, but he quickly righted himself.

" Brother-Captain? Are you alright? " Aphyr asked, his voice full of urgency.

Pushing past the pain which flared up with each new breath Garuss responded, quietly.

" Yes, Brother, keep driving. The Orks are beginning to waver. Stay the course. "

Mauktaul was correct, The Orks were no longer all facing forward, some of the larger ones craning their necks to see where their boss was along the massive lines. Nytroblud was canny and had a healthy desire to keep living and leading, but the discipline he instilled in his boys would evaporate to nothing if he did not come forward soon. Both the Marine and the warboss were playing a dangerous game now. Mauktaul had to last long enough to draw him out and force him into the fight. Nytroblud had to show himself and lead the charge, thus exposing him to the possibility of dying. He would not wriggle free of Garuss's grip like he had in the Cappel system.

Finally there was a stirring amongst the Ork ranks, wartraks parting as something moved forward from the rear echelon. A chant began amongst the greenskins, which Mauktaul could easily hear at this distance; the word "fasta" over and over again, growing louder and quicker with each shout. With eyes turning to see the arrival of the warboss the incoming fire on Mauktaul's chariot lessened, something he was silently grateful for. He did not fear death, but he knew that dying here and now would not serve the Chapter very well at all.

A large, crimson figure moved to the fore of the Orkish lines, looking to be made more of metal than flesh. Aphyr turned the chariot about so that they headed back down the line closer to where the warboss was making an appearance. He was a fearsome sight, a thankfully rare example of the skill both Mad Doks and Big Meks could achieve if they were allowed to live and learn for too long. Nytroblud rolled, rather than walked to the very front of the Orkish lines, having surrendered the legs he was born with to instead be fused to a wartrak permanently, giving him the speed he so desperately craved. Covered in metal plates from the waist up the warboss was about as thickly armored as a tank, a massive iron gob protecting most of his face while a single glowing red eye peered out from the darkness created by his helmet. Nytroblud's left arm had been replaced for something more single-minded in purpose as well, a weapon nodule consisting of a multi-melta and a heavy flamer, good for both ripping armor apart and burning infantry in close quarters. His right was still flesh and bone, but was sheathed within a power fist that humming with energy, the three thick hydraulic fingers whining as the warboss rhythmically clenched and unclenched his fingers.

Every metal bit of the warbosses' gear was drenched in red paint, from the peak of his helmet to the trio of exhaust pipes which constantly spewed black smoke on each side of his trak lower body. The only silver showing were from the various scrapes and wear a life of battle left on it, and that which had been burnt off around the barrels of his weapon arm and exhaust ports. Red was the color of speed among the Orks, and for someone like Nytroblud, a symbol of his personal philosophy. _We are alike in that way at least,_ Mauktaul thought, _we wear our colors proudly, letting friend and foe alike see us for what we are._ _That is the only parallel I can stomach making with this wretched alien._

" You appear finally, I was beginning to wonder if you really had died on Cappel Prime. Small matter, you've only exchanged a death on that planet for a death on this one, " Garuss snorted, speaking once again on the loudspeakers.

Nytroblud's answer was to emit a gout of roiling orange flame into the sky from his flamer, a growl issuing from his massive throat preceding his words.

" Shut yer gob, lily-pants. Youse wanted tha boyz 'ere fer a scrap, youse got tha boyz 'ere fer a scrap. Now, tha rest of yer boyz gonna join in, or dey tha ones that're hidin' now? " the armored behemoth roared back, drawing crude laughter from his fellows.

" They await your charge, xeno, I just wanted to see if your 'boys' were as fast as they think they are. Catch me, if you can! " Mauktaul shouted suddenly, Brother Aphyr recognizing the queue to begin heading back to the White Scars forces, immediately turning the chariot back towards friendly territory and gunning the engine. A spray of mud and a thunderous mixture of engine, shoota and screams followed seconds later as the Speed Freaks, recognizing a challenge when they saw one, eagerly set off after the lone vehicle.

" They're gaining, Brother, " Garuss informed his driver tersely, watching as the tracked vehicles of the Kult drivers grew larger and larger, the guns affixed to their steering columns chattering constantly.

" This mud slow us down, Captain, " Brother Aphyr responded as he altered his path slightly to try and throw off their pursuers aim, " we'll make it though, the Emperor protects. "

Frustrated that his already daring plan was becoming dangerously close to costing him far more than he wished to pay Mauktaul turned himself around and grabbed for the twin-linked bolter pistol, leaning against the back of the enclosure for additional support.

Taking aim with the weapon Garuss drew a bead on the nearest trak while speaking over his power armor's vox.

" Rhinos Alpha through Delta, coming in very hot, be ready. Whirlwinds One and Two, plot final firing solutions immediately and fire on my mark. "

Turning his full attention back to his own survival Garuss opened up with his bolter pistol, 10mm rounds ripping through the head and upper body of the trak's driver and sending the Ork vehicle careening away as the corpse slumped against the handlebars. His fellows were completely unperturbed by their comrade's death, cackling madly as they dodged around the slowing vehicle and continued to gain on the chariot. Decades of firing weapons while moving over uneven terrain had made Captain Mauktaul an incredibly proficient shooter, two more wartraks falling by the wayside as their desperate escape neared the Rhinos. Behind the Kult of Speed boys the rest of Nytroblud's forces had lurched forward, the more heavily armored Kans and Dreadnaughts, as well as trukks laden with 'Ard Boyz and Flash Gits to the point that their engines screamed in protest just to achieve forward momentum. The gap widened between the two chunks of Nytroblud's forces, now was the time.

" Whirlwinds, fire! Bike squadrons, wait for us to clear the Rhinos and then move up your respective flanks. It's clockwise, remember, clockwise! "

" I will kill the first Marine I see going the wrong way. Leave those sort of mistakes for the conscripts, not the Emperor's finest! " Captain Dvun threatened over the vox channel, meaning every word.

The distant whooshing roar of missiles slipping free of their tubes reached Mauktaul's ears moments after they were airborne, thick trails of spent propellant tracing their trajectory over the entirety of the White Scar forces and beyond. A short series of loud reports was heard then, the warheads on the missiles bursting apart in a shower of casings and dozens of dark specks falling to the ground below. These were Castellan missiles, designed to rapidly deploy a lethal mine field over a section of land to slow an advancing army's charge or retreat. Only the very tail end of the faster traks were caught by the mine shower, several of them bursting apart in a blossoms of fire, mud and body parts. This was a deliberate part of the Marine Captain's plan, cutting off the Kult of Speed members from immediate support by the heavier elements of the Orkish forces. The daredevil Orks cared nothing of what was happening behind them, still charging heedlessly forward, many of them likely thinking that the missiles had over-shot them and the White Scar's battle plan was beginning to fail. _Let them think this as my Marines tear the life from their bodies_, Garuss thought with a smirk.

The chariot was barely twenty yards ahead of the wartraks when they reached the Rhinos, Mauktaul beginning to issue more orders as they reached the waypoint.

" Combat Bikes, forward now! They are too close for me to risk pulling them back any further. I will remain with the Rhinos until the Cantabrian circle is complete and then join the firing line of Land Speeders. Rear Tac squads, begin advance. "

The one hundred combat bikes of the chapter's 6th company, fifty per flank, burst forward as their thick tires tore up the damp earth, riders eager to engage the Orkish horde as Mauktaul's chariot made a sharp left turn and moved along the small row the Rhinos created. Laughing manically the Speed Freaks set upon the unmoving transports with glee, launching rokkits, stikk bombs and jovial death threats at the white-painted personnel carriers. More than a few continued their pursuit of the chariot, the rest encircling the Rhinos as the Marines within them began to fire out of the gun ports. The transports shook and buckled as multiple impacts rocked their exterior, the going for the Marines inside as rough as Garuss had expected it to be. He had ordered them to be reinforced with ablative armor plates and to be filled with only minimal levels of fuel to lessen the effects a ruptured tank or fuel line might have, but still….

By the time the initial force of Orks had surrounded the beleaguered Rhinos the White Scar's 6th was roaring past them, the left flank going further forward and then turning to the right while the opposite flank began to turn left almost as soon as they nosed past the line of encircling Speed Freaks. Power lances outstretched to their left sides and braced with power armor assisted strength the charged blades began to find targets as the right flank bikers tore along the length of the amassed wartraks. Once they reached the end of the Rhino line they turned off to the right, just as their fellow bikers from the other flank were turning in for their chance at cutting away the Orkish riders.

" Assault squads, advance at best possible speed to your respective sides. Land Speeders advance, bolter fire only, seal the trap, " Garuss ordered over the sound of his pistol firing, scoring more hits on his determined pursuers.

Powerful jetpacks with short but effective wings affixed to the backs of their power armor the two Marine assault squads of the 3rd company jetted forward, the edges of their chain swords a grey blur as the teeth moved along the outer edges, promising grave injuries to any which felt their touch. Over fifty strong despite the losses suffered over the night, the line of Typhoon variant Land Speeders hovered easily over the muck, the heavy bolter turrets mounted under the nose beginning to fire on the wartraks as they advanced. There was little chance of damaging the already ravaged transports with their anti-infantry weapons, the density of the surrounding Orks acting as a sort of barrier as well. What had started as the Rhinos being completely surrounded and seemingly doomed had swiftly been reversed on the attackers, their rear blocked by the circling combat bikes of the 6th company, their front by the Land Speeders of the 7th, and their sides by the assault Marines who were just now landing and entering the fray.

The plan was not without its price, however. Rhino Beta nearly toppled onto its side as a rokkit punched through its heavily armored fuel tank, all fire ceasing from the gun ports as the Marines within were tossed around like leaves in a wind storm. Garuss gritted his teeth and clenched his weapons tight as he saw several of the 6th company's bikers edge too close to the mine field and suddenly be thrown skyward as their cycles tripped the sensitive mines or fell to concentrated wartrak fire.

" Tighten your circle, bikers! You've driven on worse, there is no excuse for sloppy handling! " both Mauktaul and Dvun practically yelled at the same time over the vox system.

By this time the slower Ork forces had encountered the mine field, pushing ahead heedlessly as they watched their fellows getting slaughtered and many of them falling to exploding mines. The ones who cleared the deadly field met the outer edge of the 6th company's Cantabrian circle, power lances and bolters punching and slicing Ork flesh and metal. Trapped and panicking because of this the Kult of Speed riders began to lose focus, either desperately seeking to escape or to do as much damage as possible before dying. Some rushed the Land Speeder line, many not advancing more than a score of meters before being felled by the combined fire of both the vehicles and the tactical squads that had by now moved in line with them from their position at the very rear of the White Scar deployment zone. Others had slightly more luck pushing out the sides, barreling past the assault Marines who still took their toll in lives as they dodged aside or upwards to avoid being run over. As it stood, almost a third of the Ork forces were now dead or dying, with only a handful of Marines down.

His power armor scratched and pitted from the amount of hits he had sustained, the rear left tire of his chariot little more than a few shreds of synth-rubber on a rim, Garuss was nevertheless alive and pleased things had progressed as they had. He had anticipated his enemies reactions well, and they had suffered because of it. Still, there was plenty of fighting left to do, his modified war bike coming to a lurching halt as he observed the Orks heavy armor element had mostly cleared the mine field now and were tearing into the bikers with a vengeful ferocity. It was time to begin phase two.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Telling Blow**

Date: 7344459.M41

Location: Clear-cut field 2.1 km south of Gallahar.

Mauktaul stepped down from the back of his chariot, the shredded rear tire rendering the vehicle next to useless until it had been repaired. Brother Aphyr disembarked as well, taking a bolt pistol and a chain sword from sheathes on either side of the bike's seat and prepared to rejoin the battle which was just starting to heat up again. The pair stood as the 7th Company's Land Speeders drifted by, breaking ranks just enough to glide around the Tac squads who had taken up positions around the severely damaged Rhinos. The new firing line would very swiftly be established just before the transports, with the Typhoon variant Speeders able to open up with a massive barrage of anti-personnel missiles before beginning the slow backward retreat, firing all the while at the advancing Ork army. The assault Marines would move back to join the tactical squads mustering behind the Rhinos, forming flank guards that could rapidly respond to any attempts at a pincer attack.

Ahead of them the main force of the Orks advanced on treads, wheels and armored feet, hundreds of shootas chattering away, hundreds of voices calling for the death of the white-armored humans. The mechanized mass had cleared the mine field either by passing beyond the scatter zone or simply because the explosive devices had all been detonated already. Little damage was inflicted to the vehicles, few doing little more than lifting skyward slightly as the mine burst with a spray of mud under their chassis. Some Orks clinging to the sides were blown clear, either dying instantly from the shrapnel or moments later under the treads of the wartrukks that followed, but the incidents of this were relatively few.

Captain Mauktaul's jaw shifted in frustration as the Orkish horde was advancing faster than he had anticipated, giving them little time to re-deploy and making them run the risk of being over-run, something that the White Scars could ill afford. Ceramite armor was some of the best the Imperium of Man could manufacture, but when faced with the raw crushing power of Orky melee weapons even they would buckle and fail. Garuss glanced over at Rhino Beta, where two Apothecaries helped the wounded out of the ravaged transport, three-quarters of squad 3 too injured to continue fighting and would have to be evacuated within minutes. Mauktaul wanted to shout at them to hurry, but knew full well that they were already working furiously to stabilize the Marines for transport.

" 7th Company, we can't wait any longer. Fire your salvos and begin the retreat. Tac squads, lay down suppressing fire until the injured are pulled clear, " Garuss commanded over his suit's vox caster, striding forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the squads on the very front, a rapidly shrinking field of torn and ruined Ork bodies and vehicles between them and their savage foe.

A rush of propellant-laced air blew Mauktaul's topknot around as the missiles from the Land Speeders rushed over and past the line of Marines, tracing smoky, weaving paths towards the amassed Orks. A few where shot out of the air by chance rather than excellent aim, and several more landed short, but most of the salvo struck the forefront of the greenskin's line, bursting apart and delivering their payload of shrapnel. Hundreds of sharp pieces of metal tore through any bit of exposed Ork flesh, slipping through visors and gun ports, killing drivers outright and forcing their trukks to a staggering stop. Any Orks that had been clinging to the sides of said vehicles suffered greatly as well, toppling off limp and bloody. A muted cheer went up from the Marines at the destructive show of might , but when still fully functional Killa Kans and wartrukks slipped free of the smoke kicked up by the impacts they quickly realized that his battle was far from over and they were still vastly out-numbered.

The air between the two armies quickly became filled with whistling projectiles as both sides now wanted to inflict as much damage on the other before the gap was closed. Mauktaul glanced anxiously back to where the last of the injured were being prepped to be evacuated. They would not have enough time. Setting his chain lance firmly in both hands Garuss pointed the whirring-edged blade towards the advancing Ork line and prepared to meet them head on. As the distance shrank and shrank the Marines around him grew restless, their heads shifting and feet shuffling anxiously. They were not afraid, no Marine knew fear even in such a grim situation as this, but there was more at stake here than their lives. If they allowed themselves to be over-run then they would be fighting on the Orks terms, not their own, and simply put even a highly-trained and well-equipped White Scar was no match for a heavily-armored Nob with a massive choppa. The honor of the chapter hung on the out-come of this fight, if the White Scar chapter ended up saving Praetor IV, or merely delayed its doom.

Several Marines further down the line crumpled as heavy-caliber rounds punched through their tough armor, their super-human physiology and augmented bodies likely keeping them from dying unless the wound was immediately fatal, but that also meant more injured to pull back from the front, and one less bolter firing at the Orks. The withering fire provided by the Land Speeders did some damage as well, but aside from a few less-than-fully armored Orks going down, it was largely ineffective against the heavily reinforced Kans and Wartrukks. Brother-Captain Mauktaul was just about to give the order for the 6th Company to engage once again in what would probably be a costly flanking attack when an electric hum reached his ears and the air around him and his brother Marines became heavy. Recognition struck Garuss's mind at the same instant that Stormseer Phaeton's lightning lanced across the forefront of the Orkish line, ribbons of blue-white electricity lancing through flesh and armor alike as a crack of thunder loud enough to be heard for miles rumbled across the open plain.

The sudden and raw power of the psychic attack actually forced the charging Ork line to slow as the lightning shorted out the crude systems of many of the ramshackle vehicles and powered armor, causing many an Ork to start banging and cursing loudly on the consoles to try and get it to work again, about as sophisticated as most Orky field repairs got. This would buy them the time they needed.

" Brother-Captain, all injured Marines have been moved to the rear of the formation, my Company is ready to attack on your command, " Dvun informed him, his voice coming through clearly despite vox static and the background rumbling of his combat bike's powerful engine.

" Understood. Tac squads, redeploy to nav point beta immediately, the 7th Company will be covering you so triple time it! " Garuss commanded, pausing in mid-stride only for a moment as the line of Marines to his sides wheeled about and began to run, watching as the Ork war machines once again thrummed to life, black smoke coughing forth from the exhaust pipes as the drivers pushed their vehicles to the limit in order to make up for lost time.

Nav beta was a quarter mile back, but seemed twice as far as each step was slowed by the tenacious grey mud that sucked and slurped with every footfall. Bolter rounds whizzed over every Marines' head as the Land Speeders continued to fire while they waited at the pre-determined point, frequently firing off a missile when a safe shot presented itself. Shoota rounds tore up the wet earth around the fleeing White Scars as well, and from the corner of his eyes Mauktaul could see several Marines stagger and fall as a particularly powerful shot breached their armor in several places. None were left behind, though, for seconds after they had fallen they were immediately scooped up by two of their battle-brothers and carried along. Every life was precious, every intact gene-seed ensuring the long-term survival of their chapter.

The sound of explosions reached Garuss's ears as he came to a stop at the assigned coordinates, the Marine captain not even bothering to turn around to determine the source. The Rhinos had fulfilled their final purpose, having been packed with explosives on the inner walls that were shaped to blow the sides of the vehicles outwards, creating twisted, jagged shards of flying metal capable of damaging even the toughest Ork armor. Garuss knew that to purposefully destroying three of the chapter's transports thus, especially just before heading off to a new theater of war, would not earn him the praise of his superiors. Rhinos, however, were built on dozens of forge worlds throughout the Imperium of Man, while White Scar Marines only came from one source, making one infinitely more precious than the other. If it saved one Marine's life, or there were ten Orks less to kill because of it, Garuss considered it a fair trade.

A series of checks from the Captain's squad sergeants over the vox system quickly told him everyone was in position and awaiting his command.

" The jaws are open and the teeth sharp, " Skarl's voice crackled from the vox speaker in Mauktaul's power armor collar, a tone of savage pleasure coming through clearly. Garuss, standing once again with is face to the enemy, smiled broadly at the analogy this next maneuver had gained from their time fighting together. Once they had whittled down the Orks numbers as much as they could the White Scars would finally throw themselves at the enemy, the tactical squads taking the front, the 6th Company's war bikes the flanks, and the assault squads the rear after flying over the massed foe and dropping melta bombs liberally as they went. Each individual group would form a wedge and push hard to the middle of the enemy force, quickly dividing the once unified army into many smaller units who had to contend with attacks on three sides and were physically separated from any reinforcements. The combat bikes would clear a zone in the very center of the mass from which they could attack in any direction that still maneuver somewhat, while on the outside the Land Speeders and what few scouts bikes there were would attempt to keep the enemy from fleeing or regrouping. It had worked before, though the advantage in raw power and armor the Orks still possessed meant any mistakes or weaknesses would be severely punished.

" All companies, attack as planned! Fight your way inwards until you see nothing but your brothers before you and a trail of bodies behind! "

Captain Mauktaul's broadcasted order was followed by dozens of Marine voices yelling

" For the Khan and the Emperor " over the communal link, creating a reverberating echo along the lines as the transmitted voices mingled with the physical ones. The White Scars were running again, but this time it was forward, towards the Orkish engines of death, towards the greenskins who howled and charged to meet the humans' advance. A wartrukk barreled towards Mauktaul, twin-linked heavy shootas mounted on either side of the hood blazing away, several rounds striking the Captain across the torso and leaving large divots in the white ceramite, Garuss whispering a small prayer in thanks to the Emperor that none of the bullets had found one of the breaches in his armor that had been opened up before. The ramming plow on the front of the trukk, predictably painted with a triangular pattern resembling teeth, parted the mud before it as it headed on a collision course with the Marine Captain. Chain spear leading his own advance Mauktaul, with timing born of decades of judging relative vehicle speeds, leapt into the air at last moment as the Ork transport loomed before him. Powerful leg muscles and the power suit's actuators sent Garuss forward in a high arc, his booted feet clanging as they struck the trukk's hood, hands already guiding the end of his spear at the driver.

The goggle-wearing Boy behind the wheel of the truck had been expecting to feel the satisfying bump of a human going under his treads, but instead had a screaming Marine launching into the air at him. The Ork's grab for the shoota on the seat beside him came too late as the chain spear lanced into his lightly-armored upper torso, burrowing in while it kicked out a spray of bone fragments and blood. A couple of the 'Ard Boyz who had been riding in the open back of the truck began firing with their own heavy weapons, the Marine's stumble as the truck lurched aiding him in dodging a rokkit that whizzed past his head. Drawing his bloodied chain spear from the corpse of the driver Mauktaul whipped it around in a wide circular swing with his right arm, the scything blade passing through the side of one Ork's head near his eye socket, then carrying through to the neck of his companion, felling them both. Their fellows, while not the most intelligent of the universe's species, did notice that the two at the front were now missing their heads in part or entirely, turning their guns from along the sides of the vehicle to the front of it.

After sparing only the briefest of moments to ensure that his footing was secure on the jostling vehicle's hood Garuss leapt up again, the still moving trukk passing beneath him and when he landed he was the middle of the Orks that occupied the flat-bed portion of the trakk's body. Seating was limited to a plain metal bench running along both sides of the rear, though the xenos were currently kneeling along it as they fired over the sides at his battle brothers. Mauktaul's jaws parted in another feral cry as his chain spear went to work again in broad, sweeping attacks, the Captain even using the butt end of the weapon's shaft repeatedly strike an Ork's face until something finally gave with a wet crunch audible even in the din around them. Some of the passengers tried to use their shootas on the Marine, but with the driver dead on the gas pedal and his limp arms causing the vehicle to list to the right the ride was very bumpy, shots going wide or striking the other massed Boyz. Choppas and crude knives came out instead, Ork still confident in their numbers that they could bring this humie down.

Garuss focused on short stabs and chops with his fearsome weapon now, knowing that a rush of greenskins could still drag him to the floor where his main weapon would be useless. A quick jab robbed one xeno of this index and middle fingers, his axe dropping to the bouncing metal floor along with a fair bit of his blood, while a shallow rising sweep to Garuss's right made another Skarboy reconsider the charge he was about to make. All around the out-of-control trukk the battle raged just as fiercely as the voices, weapons and bodies of both Imperium and xeno clashed fiercely. The Brother-Captain could spare none of his attention to the events around him, however, his own personal war requiring all of his focus. The Marine drove the tip of his spear through the chest of a greenskin who stumbled as a more zealous comrade shouldered him aside to strike at the human, then dragging the whirring blade along the unprotected armpit of the Ork who had done the pushing as he withdrew it. The numbers of the alien filth that opposed him was dropping rapidly.

Losing their nerve several of the trukk's passengers leapt over the edges of the rear portion, landing in amongst the chaos that flowed around the troop transport like water around rapids. Another Ork went down under Garuss's weapon, his head split down the middle from a savage over-head swing, his helmet delaying the blade from reaching his brain for only a fraction of a second, leaving the Captain with a lone greenskin who had a look of one considering his options. After looking the Marine up and down once more the scarred Ork grinned, gave a mocking salute, pulled the pins on two krak grenades and dropped off the back of the wartrukk backwards, leaving Garuss standing alone with a pair of explosives about to detonate. The Marine Captain threw himself off the side of the Ork vehicle, the muddy ground rising up to greet him swiftly. Mauktaul landed in a roll, his solid physique and finely-crafted armor reducing the impact to little more than a brief pressure on his lungs, the White Scar Marine on his feet and weapon at the ready a moment later as the grenades exploded, incinerating anything left on the back of the wartrukk.

It was not a moment too soon, either, as Captain Mauktaul was immediately set upon by a 'Ardboy Nob, the haft of his chain spear blocking the Ork's vicious downward swing of his axe, the impact jarring even his mighty arms such was the power behind it. This Ork was the product of numerous battles, as was told by his numerous pale scars and trophies he wore on his metal armor. Against even a fully trained and equipped Space Marine this greenskin would not be a threat to be taken lightly. Garuss was not a typical Marine, however, his armor alone nearly three hundred years old and responded to his movements like it were his own skin. From the block Mauktaul released he chain spear with his left hand as the Ork reeled back for another downward chop, hitting at what he perceived as the weakest point on the human's armor, his exposed head. Gripping his weapon's shaft tightly with is right hand and swung a horizontal arc at the Ork's belly, the rotating teeth of chain saw end digging a shiny metal furrow along the armor there. Maneuvering his pole arm with the finesse of a much lighter weapon Garuss stopped its arc and reversed his swing, deepening the groove. The 'Ardboy's axe began its decent as the Marine Captain pulled his chain spear back for a stab forward, gripping it with both hands and lunging forward. The adamantine teeth of the weapon punched through the weakened spot on the Ork's armor easily, clawing its way messily into the xeno's innards, black blood spurting out as the teeth ran back down the track for another go.

The 'Ardboy shuddered as the pole arm eviscerated him, the strength stolen from his massive limbs as the edge of his axe struck Garuss on the left shoulder plate, marring the 3rd Chapter symbol painted there. Yanking the tip of his spear out Garuss threw his shoulder into the chest of the dying Ork, knocking him to the muddy ground. His topknot whipping around as Mauktaul searched for his next opponent he was quickly beset by two more Orks, one looking to be from the same unit as the one he had just felled, and the other was a Nob, likely the boss of that group of Orks. The Nob looked as thickly armored as a Lemen Russ, and, standing a head taller than Garuss, just about as big.

" All alone humie? Wees will keep ya company! " the Nob chuckled, drool trickling past his misaligned teeth. The smaller Ork, wielding a pistol-like shoota and a large knife, laughed at the comment as well, drawing a bead on Garuss.

Squaring off against these two, pole arm clasped in both hands the Marine Captain prepared to charge the smaller of the two, who would be the easier to fell and whom he couldn't afford to ignore as a lucky shot from its crude slug-thrower could put even some one like Mauktaul down. Barreling past stomping Ork war machines and embattled infantry Captain Dvun roared towards them, Mauktaul catching his brother Marine's rapid approach from the corner of his eye. Feinting by looking as he were going to stab at the smaller Boy, the backward step put the greenskin perfectly in line with Dvun's power lance, the blade slicing through the 'Ardboy's lightly protected back and then carrying on to cut deeply into the back of the Nob's knee joints. Roaring at the sudden pain the massive Ork, top heavy from his armor and over-developed torso, pitched forward…right onto Garuss's waiting chain spear. The tip punched through the Nob's neck, the dying Ork barely capable of a choking gurgle before his life fled from his yellow eyes. Garuss hauled his weapon to the side, tossing the Ork off like he were tossing a bit of refuse away.

" I am never alone, xeno, for the Emperor is with me always, " the Marine Captain spat at the twitching corpse.

" All squads, this is Scout Taklen, I see roughly three hundred Stormboyz making their way just below the tree line far to the south. ETA four minutes, " a voice, broken up amidst vox static and the loud sounds around him, spoke to the Brother Captain from his collar. The highly maneuverable Orks, especially that many, could quickly turn the tables on the White Scar forces, isolating and trapping them in pockets surrounded by green bodies.

" 7th Company, redirect fire on the reinforcements when they come within range. Assault squads, disengage from your current targets and be prepared to battle their jetpack troops in the air if necessary, I will not have these new Orks dropping bombs freely upon our ground forces. "

Affirmatives from the squad sergeants and Captain Skarl told him that they had received and understood his orders, doing everything in their power to ensure that they were carried out. The two forces were now dead even, the Orks with superior numbers and mechanized troops, the White Scars with better equipped and trained soldiers and tactics.

A flash of bright red showed itself to Garuss's keen eyes through the chaotic melee around him, the Marine's eyes narrowing as he spotted Nytroblud and his Mekboy escorts near the middle of the battle, each equipped with power klaws capable of shearing through Marine armor with dreadful ease. A combat biker who strayed too close lost control of his vehicle as these same power klaws raked along the side of it, tearing open its engine and causing billowing smoke to erupt from the exposed workings. The Marine slipped from the seat and landed hard, losing his grip on his power lance and laying dazed on the muddy ground while his bike traveled a feet meters more before crashing and exploding at the feet of a Killa Kan.

" I have the warboss spotted near my position, all units that can assist do so. We kill him and his Boyz will break and run, " Mauktaul reasoned, dodging heavy shoota fire from his left as he charged forward to where the biker Marine struggled to regain his feet, a bloody gash that likely reached the bone opened in his right calf from what was only a glancing hit from the energized blades. A mekboy, knowing an easy kill when he saw one, was tromping his way towards the downed Marine, power assisted legs bowed and straining under all the heavy armor and weapons the greenskin had packed onto his upper body. Grabbing for his bolter rifle the injured combat biker dragged himself back a few feet from his wrecked vehicle on his left elbow, and then, seeing he would not get very far instead drew a bead on the advancing mekboy. Depressing the trigger the Marine fired in short, controlled bursts like he had been trained to, aiming for the most vulnerable parts on the Ork's body, namely the face and head. The Mekboy responded by growling and bringing up the arm fitted with the power klaw as a make-shift shield, continuing to advance. The xeno would be within striking distance in a matter of moments.

Not wanting to declare his advance by issuing a battle cry Mauktaul barreled forward, chain spear raised above his left shoulder, prepared for a slashing downward arc. Bolter rounds ricocheted off the Ork's raised melee weapon, impacting in the mud around the two combatants and pinging off the sides of nearly vehicles. Roaring in defiance the downed Marine's clip ran dry, nothing but hollow clicking and propellant smoke issuing from the barrel. Undeterred the combat biker instead dropped his rifle and drew his knife, a pitiful weapon when compared to the massive scything blades arrayed against him. It was then Garuss struck, the whirring blade on the end of the metal shaft striking against one of the exposed hydraulics along the side of the Mekboy's right leg. The nearly indestructible metal teeth chewed through the metal shaft in the span of a second, fluid gushing out of the breach onto the already stained and discolored ground. The immediate effect of this was a seizing of the Ork's leg, and that, combined with the weight of the raised power klaw caused the confused greenskin to sink to one knee, his attention off of the Marine directly before him. Cursing angrily in his deep, guttural voice the Mekboy swiveled his massive head about to inspect what had gone wrong with his armor, yellow eyes spotting the damaged servo and the flash of white armor that was the Brother-Captain easily.

Roaring and attempting to swivel about to strike at the attacking humie the massive Ork staggered to his feet, sweeping his power klaws around for a back-handed strike. Garuss had already anticipated this, and the energized blades passed harmless over him as he set to work on the Ork's other legs. While prodigiously strong, the Ork would only be able to move at a snail's pace without the power assist of his armored exoskeleton, his fearsome bulk working against him. Two vicious strikes ruptured the hydraulics on the xeno's other leg, with a angry roar the Ork fell to his hands and knees, the blades on his powered gauntlet sizzling as they came into contact with the muddy battlefield. Garuss wasted no time, and with a short, powerful hop he was now standing across the fallen Ork's broad back, a dizzying and haphazard array of cables, wires and pipes fitting into the exoskeleton's power supply. Legs shifting and bending to stay atop the struggling Ork the Brother-Captain choked up on the grip of his chain spear so that half of the handle was behind his grip for shorter swings and set to work slicing away at the Mekboy's armor.

Sparks and pieces of metal flew from the White Scar's efforts, the Ork's rage and frustration likely doubled as Garuss systematically destroyed the thing that he had worked so hard assembling to give him and edge on the battlefield and a place beside his Warboss. Nearly toppling off from a particularly violent shrug Garuss decided he had rendered the Ork's armor effectively useless and, shifting his grip on the chain spear yet again, thrust downward with both hands, aiming for a poorly armored spot near the Mekboy's shoulder blade. The ever-hungry teeth of his chain blade dug into the xeno's flesh eagerly, spraying dark blood over the Marine Captain's already besmirched power armor, whining as it struck bone. With a bellow worthy of a much larger creature the Mekboy fell prone to the ground, limbs thrashing in pain, grievously injured but far from dead. The greenskin had only seconds to consider its fate as he looked up to see the injured Marine load a fresh clip into his bolter rifle and take aim at the unarmored top of the Ork's head. Shell casings, bits of thick Orkish skull and grey-green brain matter fell to the muck an instant later, the big Ork twitching one final time before breathing his last.

Mauktaul's return salute to the understandably grateful Marine was brief, the Brother-Captain once again focusing his attention on the surrounding battle and Nytroblud at the very center of it. Fellow White Scars filtered into view from between ruined Ork vehicles, heeding Garuss's call for support while his assault Marines took to the skies to battle the Orkish reinforcements that just arrived, trailing black clouds of crude propellant as they flew.

" Hit the Warboss and his guards with everything you can muster and then run, get them angry and frustrated. Give me an opening to Nytroblud and I will do the rest, " Mauktaul explained over the vox caster, with a smattering of affirmatives from nearly a dozen sources in response. Tracers from bolter fire, krak grenades and harsh language began to make its way to the Warboss and his retinue, sending the Mekboy escorts into a bloodthirsty rage, returning fire with big shootas, rokkits and Orkish curses of their own. The tight ring around Nytroblud began to slip, the highly inaccurate Ork weapons not causing the sort of damage the Mekboyz so desperately wanted to inflict, leading to further frustration. The servos on their power klaws whining as the tech-minded greenskins clenched and unclenched their favored melee weapons in anticipation of more bloody, satisfying blows against the elusive humans.

" Captain Dvun, I could use another pass from you, this time along the Warboss's left arm. Try and take out that heavy flamer he has, " Garuss suggested.

" I'll make my way there now. Most of the xeno vehicles have had some or all of their locomotion disabled by my combat bikers and we're just dealing with a lot of impromptu bunkers now. ETA forty seconds. "

" This is Brother-Captain Skarl. The Land Speeders have forced the Ork reinforcements to the ground and are moving in to assist the assault Marines now. I can make a quick pass myself and drop a salvo of missiles down his throat in roughly half a minute. "

" Excellent news Brother-Captain, I will be waiting for your strike, " Garuss confirmed, smiling grimly at the news and batting aside a Stormboy's choppa attack before his chain spear sawed off the Ork's right leg. Roaring in pain the rokkit-pack equipped xeno attempted to lift off, hitting the primitive ignition switch on his belt. Garuss was just as fast, his right foot coming in for a bone-jarred kick to the Ork's upper chest, the force of the blow altering the greenskin's trajectory to a horizontal one rather than vertical. The ignited rokkit-pack sent the Stormboy like a flailing missile to smash and explode against the side of an abandoned wartrukk.

With a scream half turbine and half human voice Captain Skarl and his Land Speeder darted into view, pushing the engines for all they're worth to fly above the carnage. Blossoms of grey smoke burst forth from the missile racks on the flying machine's sides, launching the shrapnel-filled projectiles on weaving paths towards the Warboss and his bodyguard. The warheads detonated with a rapid series of 'bangs', scattering metal shards over the entire area and temporarily obscuring the Warboss and his retinue from Garuss's eyes. Thickly muscled limbs augmented with make-shift hydraulic aids waved at the smoke in anger, the shrapnel drawing plenty of blood but not felling a single one. Skarl quickly banked in a tight turn and left the area, his hover vehicle losing altitude rapidly and he wanted to be back amongst his company before he was once again but a meter over the grey muck of the battlefield.

Mauktaul began to run as he heard the rumbling roar of an approaching combat bike, Nytroblud's Mekboy escort stomping clear of the smoke and shooting at anything not green in their pained frustration. Nytroblud rolled forward too, his angry bellow likely clearly audible on the very fringes of the battlefield, launching bolts of super-heated plasma at the Tac squads still peppering him with shots. Dvun would have his work cut out for him, the Warboss was no fool and a few good shots with his multi-melta would reduce bike and Marine alike to puddles of slag. Garuss would have to distract the giant Ork so that his fellow Captain would be able to make his strike without exposing himself to the incoming fire that would make an already tricky shot impossible. Mauktaul saw the bike burst into view form behind a mired wartrukk, power lance poised to strike. There was no time left.

" You've lost, Nytroblud! Your boys have no heart to fight and you have not the brains to lead them! " the Marine Captain shouted at the top of his three lungs towards the red-painted Warboss a mere thirteen yards ahead. The Warboss's head immediately fixed on the source of the challenging shout, his upper body swiveling on its tracked base to face the approaching Marine square on.

" An Ork hasn't been beat as long as 'ees got a choppa in his hand and a breath in 'is lungs! Come try and stick me wit that lil twig ya gots dere, I'm ready for ya! " the heavily armed xeno yelled back, drawing a bead on Garuss with his weapon arm, flame thrower ready to discharge a massive gout of flame directly in the White Scar's path.

There was a flash of energized adamantium as Captain Dvun slipped by the Warboss so close that he could have reached out and run his fingers over the treads. Poorly-refined oil, viscous and black, poured out of the ruptured hose at the rear of Nytroblud's weapon cluster, as well as jets of pressurized plasma as the containment tanks had been deeply sliced into as well. The two mixed in the air and soon the space above the Warboss was enveloped in an orange-red fireball marbled with rich black smoke, sending the Mekboyz scrambling away as fast as they could as the intense heat rolled over them. Nytroblud himself screamed and turned his poorly protected eyes away from the sudden conflagration, anything rubber or glass melting within seconds of being directly exposed to such intense temperatures. Garuss slowed his pace only long enough to allow the fire to consume both the multi-melta and flamer weapons, fusing wires, warping barrels and turning red paint into scorched metal instantly. His brutish screams harsh with their intensity Nytroblud wheeled himself forward blindly, trying to escape the fireball that still hung in the air. Mauktaul met him head-on, power-assisted legs once again sending him skyward as he came in for a double-handed lancing blow against the Warboss's armored head.

The chain spear's head met the metal of the Ork's visor at a 45 degree angle, spinning teeth grinding through the thick armor sluggishly at first, but then speeding up as less and less of it impeded the small but powerful motor turning the chain. Garuss himself landed atop the Warboss's tracked lower body, arms straining and twisting as he tried to bury the tip of his weapon into the massive xeno's face. Nytroblud's power fist swung about blindly in front of it, thick metal fingers brushing against the Marine Captain's armored side. Garuss felt something give, the head of his weapon moving freely now, free enough to stab it deep into the eye socket of the greenskin's skull. Mustering his strength for a lethal plunge forward digits the size of his legs clamped around the Marine's torso suddenly, the Ork's seeking hand finally purchase on something solid. When it found that something solid the fingers began to squeeze, hydraulics humming and squealing as they began to crush with all the power of an industrial compactor.

Mauktaul could already feel the incredible pressure on his sides despite the rigid plates blocking the power fist's progress. Nearly blinded and in intense pain the Warboss would still be able to collapse the Brother-Captain's chest and turn his bones and organs into a red paste if he continued to squeeze him. The advantage had swung from heavily favoring the White Scar Captain to being a desperate race against time to kill the Warboss before his power armor buckled and failed.

" I'll paint me new arm with yer stinkin' blood you grot-faced humie! " Nytroblud promised, a single, flickering red eye staring down at Garuss as he began to shake the trapped Marine about like a doll. The world around Mauktaul blurred and vibrated from the Warboss's less-than-gentle treatment, the Brother-Captain still trying to jab the tip of his chain spear into something critical. Ceramite crinkled as it bent, the jagged edges formed from the failing metal plates piercing the Marine's sides, spears of pain his enhanced neurology couldn't dampen completely eating at his focus as well. Ribs fused together into a solid, protective mass from years of controlled bone growth creaked under the ever-increasing strain, putting pressure on the organs both implanted and natural housed within the chest cavity. Garuss's two hearts pounded furiously to provide strength to his body to fight off this foe, his arms stabbing and twisting the haft of the chain weapon furiously, trying to slice into something vital.

His vision darkening and his breaths coming in short, torturous gasps Garuss felt his body begin to shut down in order to preserve what life-functions were still intact, a carefully arranged system of organs making sure that even in severely wounded there would be a chance that the Marine could be revived. He would receive none of this medical care if his body was squeezed out of the top of his armor like the glop in a tube of protein paste, however. In a coincidence that Garuss had not the mental wherewithal at the moment to ponder Nytroblud opened up his wide and begin to draw the Marine closer to it, the jagged teeth along the metal lower jaw promising a spectacularly effective decapitation within seconds. Summoning up the last of his strength Garuss wrenched his chain spear free from the Warboss's visor and instead jabbed it deep into the Ork's mouth, the whirring teeth of the weapon found soft tissue to eviscerate instantly, and did so with relish. Gagging and choking, Nytroblud flailed his one arm, his actions sweeping the scything blade on the end of the Marine-Captain's weapon to new sections of his cavernous mouth. His jaws snapped shut, bending but not slicing through the tough alloys of the chain spear's shaft. Gritting his teeth against the intense pressure on his body Garuss pushed the haft of his weapon even deeper into the Ork's mouth, metal screaming as adamantium rubbed again low-grade steel.

The pressure on Mauktaul's sides began to lessen the deeper he pushed, inches of the metal pole sliding between the Ork's natural upper jaw and his artificially replaced bottom one. Blood began to pour from over the already red gob, running hot and sticky over the Marine's face and neck, but still he pushed, until, with a sound that was part whine and part gurgle, the Warboss Nytroblud convulsed violently and then became very still, the upper body hunching forward, rivulets of blood still draining out of the mangled oral cavity and on to anything below it. Gasping for air between the intense pressure still on his ribs and the brackish xeno fluids dribbling on his face Garuss finally collapsed to the blood-drenched ground as the hydraulics of the power fist, bereft of commands from the muscles below, relaxed and the fingers parted. Despite the possibility of being attacked the Captain of the White Scar's 3rd company could only lay on his back and stare at the sky, his bent weapon far above his grasp. Pain-killers, adrenaline, and clotting agents coursed through his enhanced circulatory system in force, trying to stem the bleeding both internal and otherwise and prevent Garuss from succumbing to shock. A normal human would have already been dead by that point.

The sound of shouting Ork voices managed to work past the howling ring in both of Mauktaul's ears, as well as frantic reports across his suit's still functional vox system. The ground rumbled and shook from the touch of dozens of large vehicles and footsteps moving with a single purpose.

" Da boss is down! Back to tha swamp! "

" Nytroblud has been killed. All units make these filthy xenos pay for every step they take! Victory in the name of the Immortal Emperor! "

" Apothecaries, Brother-Captain Mauktaul is down, home in on his suit's transmitter at best possible speed. Can anyone confirm his condition? "

A shadow fell over Garuss's vision and his blood-blurred eyes swiveled to look upon the concerned face of Brother Aphyr peering down at him.

" Hold still, Captain, the Apothecaries are on the way, " he urged the senior Marine, then, over the vox system; " Captain Mauktaul is alive but has suffered severe trauma to his upper body. Triple time it! "

" Roger that. ETA fifty seconds. "

The muscles along Garuss's neck rippled and contracted as he cleared his throat as best he could, his voice nevertheless hoarse as he spoke.

" Push them back to the industrial complex but no further. These Orks may still have a trick or two waiting for us and we've lost enough men today already. Our fight is over. "

Brother Aphyr nodded, relaying the orders over his suit's vox caster.

Garuss finally let his body relax then, the scattered sounds of bolter fire and explosions still all around him as his brother Marines chased the xenos down.

As for him, he would die in battle, of this he knew, but today was not that day.

Date: 7344459.M41

Location: Regimental HQ, Gallahar City.

" Commander! Two representatives of the White Scars Chapter have arrived, "

a different lieutenant, as fresh-faced and forgettable as the other one, informed the leader of Praetor IV's only remaining regiment.

Commander Dominik paused the surveillance pic taken of the battle for the planet with a click of a button and sent the screen back up into the ceiling with another. They had done it. They broke the back of the seemingly unstoppable green beast that had landed on their under-developed world and killed so many good men who stood in their path. The man who had felt half a day previous that the fate of every single human life on the planet was his burden to bear let his shoulder slump a little. The Marines were likely coming to begin coordinating with the existing Imperial Guard units to flush out the rest of the filthy greenskins from the industrial complex so that they could finally get back on schedule and the planetary governor could stop wringing his hands in sheer terror of losing his coveted position. He would give the Emperor's finest all the help he could muster and then some. It was the least his men could do to try and make up for the honor they had lost by not being able to properly defend their own people, large because of incompetent leadership.

Dominik barely had time to readjust his uniform's tunic and straighten his hair before two imposing men came into view, one in power armor, the other without. The commander recognized them both easily enough, the feral-looking librarian with his archaic staff and the grim-faced Captain from before. This time, however, the Marine Captain wore only a set of fatigues and moved with a pained slowness, obviously having received some grievous injuries in the battle that had ended only hours before.

Commander Dominik rose to his feet sharply and saluted, a tight, grateful smile on his thin lips.

" You have the thanks of myself, every one under my command and that of the millions whose lives you and your men have saved this day, Captain. The people of Praetor IV will not soon forget the name of the White Scar chapter. "

Mauktaul not return the salute, and acknowledged the commander's word with a single curt nod.

" We are leaving, Commander Dominik. Other conflicts call to us them and this side-trip has proven to be a costly in both time and materials. Be thankful that your colony was as established as it was when the Ork invaded, otherwise the _Wings of War_ would have simply cyclonic torpedoed the surface and moved on. "

Commander Dominik froze as his mind attempted to reconcile what he was hearing with what he was expecting to hear. Bombed the whole planet and left? Was that the attitude of mankind's greatest saviors? Finally, deciding it would be better to not get into the nitty-gritty details of what exactly the Marine meant, Dominik instead asked a different sort of question.

" My scouts have reported to me quite insistently that the remainder of the Orkish invasion force has holed up in the industrial complex, no doubt licking their wounds and repairing their weapons. Who but the White Scars would be the best choice to cleanse this alien garbage from the factories so that they may once again add their materials to the war effort elsewhere? "

The Captain's response was cold and dismissive, Dominik's face registering shock as the words crossed the distance between the Marine's mouth and the commander's ears.

" Rooting xeno scum out from narrow streets, blind alleys and sewers is the work of Imperial Guardsmen, not the Emperor's finest. Your men have much to prove to once again proudly wear the aqulia on the front of their uniforms. "

With that, and not so much as a word of parting or a glance back Garuss Mauktaul walked stiffly from the office and out of view. With a slight bow of his head and another gruesome smile the Librarian left as well, staff thumping hollowly against the floor as he walked. Dominik slowly sank back down into his synthetic leather chair, at a loss as to what to say or do at that moment. The Marines cared nothing for the rebuilding of Praetor IV or what happened to its inhabitants after their battle had been fought.

It would take months to rebuild the city's damaged infrastructure, most notably the transport tunnel that he had ordered blown and the main highway that had been ruined by the battle barge's orbital fire. Orks, full of mechanical knowledge and operating with impunity within the sprawling, labyrinth-like industrial complex would continue to threaten the colony's safety long after the White Scars had left. The colony's food supply system had been severely compromised as well, only a few months worth of food under the strictest of rations available to them. With slow, methodical movements Commander Dominik opened up a drawer on his desk and pulled out a glass tumbler and a half-empty bottle of Amasec.

Brother-Captain Mauktaul strode as fast as his injuries would permit from the building, not responding to any of the well-wishes or adulations sent his way from the people he passed by. Seventeen of his brother Marines had died in that battle, each worth a regiment of Guardsmen in his eyes, including one Sergeant Cassir of 3rd company's 5th squad. Garuss would make sure he was buried at his former rank, his earlier failure more than made up by his valiant sacrifice on the field of battle. Another ten Marines, himself included, would take a month to return to active duty from their injuries, their presence would be sorely missed in the coming battles. The three Rhinos that he had used as decoys were a complete write-off, the wrecks demolished with explosives to make sure no Ork could salvage them This was coupled with the loss of the Land Speeders that been destroyed from the Kommando raid on the White Scar's forward base. Captain Mauktaul had seen quite enough of Praetor IV and would be glad to leave it far, far behind him.

Halward Donne watched the two Space Marines leave, knowing in his heart of hearts that this would be the last time he or anyone else on the planet would see them.

" Aren't they going to stay and help us flush them out of the factories? " a confused Guardsmen asked no one in particular, watching the pair of men make their way to the waiting Thunderhawk.

Donne spat a wad of phlegm on the tarmac before he responded, slowly shaking his head.

" Doesn't seem that way. Anybody knows you don't knock a wasp nest out of a tree, step on it a few times and then leave, but the Emperor's finest have better things to go off and kill now. Best leave the little details to the grunts like us I guess. "

" We'll never flush the Orks out of the hydroponics facility before we all starve, " another Guardsmen complained, kicking the wall of the regimental HQ in anger.

Trooper Donne nodded sagely, his empty lasgun cradled, more out of habit than anything else, between his arms.

" They didn't end the war, they just killed a bunch of Orks and changed how the war is going to be fought. I hope the governor's got some powerful friends and deep pockets or this is going to get real ugly real fast. "


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Endless Duty**

So again, the call for assistance to any who would respond was sent out light years in every direction. The beleaguered 4th Regiment PDF's re-manned the barricade at the crest of the hill leading into the city, fearful that Ork saboteurs would find their way into the city's walls and attack vital infrastructures like the water plant, the only functioning food processing plant, or the nuclear power station. The populace was once again gripped by uncertainty where just days prior it seemed as if salvation was at hand from the Space Marines, community leaders and politicians stretched to the breaking point trying to keep panic from turning violent. Planetary Governor Adna found little rest in the days following the departing of the White Scars, his long, hectic schedules filled with monitoring the transmissions being sent to and from the Astropaths, meeting with civic and military leaders and attempting to sift through the mountains of data that filtered past his red, bleary eyes.

Things were in a tedious balance now, the governor feeling the weight of every human on the planet resting on his privilege-fattened shoulders. There were also the looks, too. Looks from just about every one he met, from the people who knew that if he had called for proper assistance upon first sighting the Orks none of this would be happening. The governor kept a bottle of triple-distilled Amasec and a single-shot bolt pistol in the upper left drawer of his large desk. Each and every day he looked upon both of them and wondered which he would be more inclined to use on himself.

Food distribution was the most dangerous and thankless task, thousands clamoring for a ration pack; pushing, shoving, and the inevitable fights, many minutes passing before order was restored upon liberal use of lasgun butts and warning shots fired over the crowd's head. With the loss of the factories literally millions of laborers were left to wander the city's streets, rumor-mongering becoming the new pastime, about how those in the upper administration never went hungry and were always given first choice while the rest of them had to stand in lines for half the day just for enough food to last the second half. Morale was low, dissidence was high, and far too few Guardsmen remained to both man the barricades and quell any riots city-wide riots that may yet spring up like a spark on a tinder-dry plain.

Weeks of this passed, the remaining Orks, refitted with new weapons and vehicles built from components they had scavenged in the industrial zone, made daily runs at the barricade, testing it for any weaknesses. The skirmishes were just that, however, the Orks, lacking the numbers and the strong leadership that had possessed before, quickly capitulated and ran, no more than a handful being lost on either side. Still this was a small mercy considering energy clips still in short supply despite every recharger in the city working ceaselessly, including some generators that had been retrofitted to fill in for that capacity. Even the introduction of some low-grade alcohol rations, brewed by some citizens using a local grain that was little more than a weed did little else but slow the descent of Guardsman morale. The planet of Praetor IV needed a miracle soon, or internal strife would finish what the Orks had started.

Finally, seventeen terran days later, the exhausted Astropaths began to receive messages that a Dictator Class cruiser named _The_ _Erinyes_ was just finishing up operations in a neighboring star cluster, and would make best possible speed to Praetor IV once they were finished. It was discovered that _The_ _Erinyes_ had not been contacted directly, but the desperate message from Praetor IV had been passed along from Cappel Prime upon hearing it, the Imperial Guard regiment aboard the cruiser something of experts in dealing with dense urban combat, perfect for ousting the Orks from the industrial complex. This is how the 99th Astorian Regiment, "The Reclaimers" came to Praetor IV, another leap through the Warp further away from their home, fighting another battle that was not their own.

The tale of the 99th Astorian is one that is so far unique amongst the tens of thousands of Imperial regiments counted by the Departmento Munitorum. They were the most recent addition to that planet's PDF regiments, designed for rapid deployment and specialized tactics, with a disproportionate amount of Storm Troopers, Orgyns and Ratling snipers amongst their more conventional Guardsmen troops. Roughly half the regiment were created as Armored Fist squads as well, able to swiftly deploy troops around fortified objectives, surrounding them and picking them apart. Their creation was one of the last orders from the late Planetary Govenor Kassak that were fulfilled, his death at only fifty-eight years the cause of much speculation and suspicion, made even more so when top military officials did everything in their power to halt the creation of the regiment, deeming it ineffective cost-wise and unnecessary for a PDF, the brain-child of a man who had obviously been rendered mentally incompetent by his advancing illness.

Exactly a month after the former planetary governor's death, the very same military officials and officers who argued against the creation of the 99th regiment swiftly snatched the reigns of power from the puppet governor who had been installed as a temporary measure until a more permanent one could be appointed by the Administratum of Terra. This was all according to the plans of this group of dissidents, calling themselves Zeus's Thunder, who had bribed those close to the governor to slowly but steadily poison him over the course of a year so that the beloved and competent leader would be replaced with a far less capable man. Claiming that the current government was corrupt and weak the officers of Zeus's Thunder said they had no choice but to stage the coup d'etat, coming to the aid of their beloved planet in its time of need and placing all its residents under marital law for the time being. Holding down most of the top military positions and in direct command of over eighty percent of the world's PDF's there was little the populace could do, despite the misgivings of many that this was little more than a personal grab for power. Strict control was held over the planet's Astropaths and space ports as well, making calling or receiving any aid from outside sources a very faint possibility at best. It could be decades before word of this seizure of power could reach anyone with any ability to restore order.

All of this however, had at least in part been foreseen by the late governor. He had seen a need, as his health worsened and those closest to him quickly became prime suspects, to create a specialized regiment of Guardsmen that could, in the instance of the rightful government being over-thrown by Chaos worshippers, cults, xeno infiltration or some other catastrophic instance, swiftly restore power to those who rightful should do so. In the instance of Chaos corruption, they would have to quickly suppress those turned traitor before the Inquisition caught wind of the infestation, and declare exterminatus on the entire world to prevent its spread. All of these broad categories were listed in the official document commissioning the creation of the 99th, but Kassak had a more specific purpose in mind for the special regiment; re-take the planet back from those who were seeking to remove him permanently. He may not be able to prevent his own death, but he would at least be able to save the populace from the tyranny that was to follow.

Those assigned to the regiment were carefully selected from a pool of Guardsmen who showed unwavering dedication and loyalty, as well as above-average competence in fulfilling their duties. Many were the regimental colonels who kicked up a fuss early in the 99th's creation as their best and most experienced men were taken from their home units and placed into this new "super" unit which seemed to amount to little more than a flight of fancy for the planet's governor.

Put at the head of the 99th was the newly commissioned Colonel Maxxum Sevren, a sixth generation inhabitant of Astoria and a fourth generation military man. His loyalty was unquestionable, possessed great knowledge of less conventional tactics, and possessed a sort of magnetic charisma that instantly bought him the unswerving obedience of those under his command. Kassak had been long-time friends with his father, who was tragically lost from a munitions explosion during a live-fire exercise while the boy was still receiving training at Scholae Excubitos on the planet Terrax. From that day Kassak swore that he would follow Maxxum's progress intently, and that he would become the head of his own regiment when he finally returned to his homeworld Astoria. It was almost too late to keep that promise, Maxxum returning only two short months before Kassak's untimely death.

A post-mortem communication from Kassak sent to Colonel Sevren told him of his fears and suppositions regarding an imminent seizure of power, a special writ giving Sevren full authority to deploy, train and field his regiment however he saw fit, outside of the usual command structure of the PDF's. Sevren used this to take his entire regiment many miles to the north of the planetary capital on maneuvers, knowing full well that Kassak's brain-child would bear the brunt of the newly revealed Zeus's Thunder wrath, no doubt branded as traitors and insurgents as they would be the most likely to rise up against the new world order. The military leaders, still flush with their success, missed their opportunity to stop Sevren's regiment from mobilizing, afterwards telling themselves it was just as well that the 99th had fled the city, sending three regiments of Guardsmen loyal to Zeus's Thunder out after them under the guise of war games. Declaring the 99th as traitors might give them support from the still divided populace, while destroying them piece-meal far from any probing eyes was a far better solution.

While the three regiments of regular Astorian Guardsmen were well-quipped and experienced units, Sevren and his newly forged 99th had nearly a week to prepare for their arrival, and with the cagey resilience of the hunted they engaged their former comrades. The 99th's Armored Fist wing would attack and fall back repeatedly, drawing the enemy Guardsmen out of position where mines, booby-traps and snipers exacted a devastating toll on the pursuers. Sevren never let his adversary choose the place and time of the conflict, always evading, running and hiding until he could strike back. Like a practiced baker rolling out dough to make a loaf of bread Maxxum Sevren kneaded with surprise attacks and feints the shape that he wanted the enemy Guardsmen in, a long line that stretched back almost halfway to the city proper. Numerous times the three regimental colonels attempted to withdraw or consolidate their forces, each time being stung painfully with losses in lives and equipment for their efforts.

The battle was not entirely one-sided, however. Sevren and his 99th felt the loss of every Guardsman or vehicle keenly, supplies and ammunition always strictly rationed and salvaged whenever possible. Twice, Sevren's Salamander Command Vehicle came under direct enemy fire from surprise attack and flanking maneuvers, always escaping at the cost of many brave soldiers who dreamt that one day the rightful order of things would be restored and the usurpers punished for their lust for power.

Finally, thirty-nine days after the beginning of the "war games" the two remaining colonels called for a general withdrawal of their forces back to the capital city, each with little more than half of their original 8,000 men, the third regiment whittled down even more from a disastrous last push into a carefully laid out kill zone, the smoke rising from the flame-gutted tanks clearly visible from the city.

The brief reprieve was not a chance to rest for Sevren and his haggard 99th, however. He pushed the entire surviving regiment 300 kilometers to the south, lead by swift Scout Salamanders and Sentinels, edging along the city's patrol routes where he would establish his new base of operations and wait out the coming winter. Word of the 99th's defiance and the defeat of the three regiments under Zeus's Thunder could not be quashed completely and soon the general populace began to needle their new rulers with questions, questions that even the most canny found hard to evade. Cracking down on what were dubbed "enemy collaborators" the members of Zeus's Thunder began a media blackout as well as violently suppressing any organizations who were planning rallies or marches. The winter, while hard on Sevren and his under-supplied 99th, was equally hard on those conspirators who had ripped the reigns of power from the dead hands of the planetary governor, the ground-work for what would eventually be their downfall laid as thick and heavy as the snow upon the earth.

Stewing from behind the thick city walls the snow had only just began to melt before Zeus's Thunder scouts were dispersed liberally in all directions, seeking any signs of the elusive rebel force. Sevren knew he could not hide forever, and yet did not have the raw firepower that would be needed to launch an assault on the city walls, and even if he did, the civilian casualties would be horrific, defeating the purpose of liberating the planet. Even now Zeus's Thunder was calling in reserve regiments from other regions to supplement the ones it had already, allowing him to maintain a strong defensive presence and also strike out at the upstart with full fury, intending to send no fewer then eight regiments after Sevren this time, supported by the planet's limited aerospace and satellite capabilities. There would be no place for him to hide, not with a net that wide cast out to catch him. He needed a non-evasive way into the city so that he may strike at the commanders of Zeus's Thunder directly and he needed it fast.

Fortunately the citizenry on the other side of the walls had not been idle. Realizing that the only way that they would be able to throw off the shackles of the usurpers was with Sevren and his rogue regiment's help. City infrastructure workers knew the battlements better than even the soldiers defending them, every little causeway, access point and drainage tunnel was their domain. It seems that during the city's initial construction a section of wall had been hastily finished in order to draw the workers elsewhere. From the outside, it appeared the same as every other section of wall, but was little more than a ferrocrete façade hiding a hole large enough to drive a Lemen Russ through. As the years passed the weakness in the fortifications became little more than a myth amongst the civil engineers, occasionally stumbled across in assessments but with little drive to spend the money and man hours needed to seal the gap properly. It was this nearly forgotten bit of the city's history that would pave the way for its future without Zeus's Thunder.

Coded transmissions that sounded like garbled speech interspersed with static operating on nearly every channel eventually made their way to the 99th's receivers, and, after several frequencies were pegged as secure those trapped within the city began to communicate with those barred outside the city. Once trust was established between the two parties plans were hatched using Sevren's military training and the civil engineers extensive knowledge of the city's inner workings. It seems that another military commander had been becoming increasingly more vocal of late against the Zeus's Thunder regime, just short of being arrested and executed for treason himself, one regimental Commissar Korric Yorre. The outspoken commissar held great sway amongst several regiments who had all served directly under him at one time or another and if he were let in on their planning, they would have even more forces to bear against the usurpers.

Weeks passed as the reinforcements that the commanders of Zeus's Thunder had requested from other provinces began to arrive, and the plot hatched between rebel civilians and Sevren's outcast regiment began to take shape. Large sections of the wall where the hollow part was located were sealed off as the engineers supposed had discovered a large breach in a water main, the evidence needed to convince the curious provided as a little bit of sabotage had gallons of water coursing out onto the nearby streets, keeping it cordoned off as well and vacant of people. Once the guards and sensors along the wall were removed or deactivated in order to deal with the broken water main Sevren began to slowly move troops to a large bluff just beyond the walls, moving in a tight, thin column so to reduce the volume of noise his mechanized unit made. For this point on the two sides maintained radio silence. Each knew the part they would play, and in order to be successful they both needed the other to do exactly as was planned.

Shaped, low-yield charges blew out of the ferrocrete façade with minimal dust and noise, Imperial Guard Storm Troopers and Ratling snipers the first into the breach to secure the area silently and efficiently while the bulk of Sevren's regiment continued to pour through the gaping hole. By that time the reserve regiments had mustered outside the city and were planning their sweep of the surrounding area, the leaders of Zeus's Thunder eager to finally hunt down and kill the renegade Colonel once and for all. Commissar Yorre, along with three regiments loyal to him, waited patiently for their chance to act, the scarred and imposing man occasionally glancing over in the direction of the main city gates, his ultimate goal.

Secured within the long line of Salamanders idling in the streets, Armored Fist squads sat ready to pour out of the bay doors. Sentinels crouched like flightless metal birds, their pilots running final checks on the bipedal vehicle's engines, weapons and stabilizers. Ogryns, not entirely sure what was happening but spoiling for a fight after months of laying in wait flexed and peered about blankly, waiting for the signal to advance. When at last zero hour came a tremendous roar filled the three-block area as the Salamanders and Sentinels all began to move as one, a massive, snaking column winding its way through the streets towards the military headquarters of the city on a pre-planned route, bursting through the brightly-colored warning barricades the engineers had placed up to stop local traffic.

It was Commissar Yorre's time to act as well, leading some 24,000 men, already geared for combat under the auspice of standing by to reinforce the reserve regiments outside the city, towards the main gates. Tense minutes passed before the city's military channels were suddenly filled with multiple reports of rebelling Guardsmen, the vox operators often screaming over the sound of explosions as the engineers began to destroy communication towers and Zeus's Thunder loyalists attempted a haphazard defense. Once it reached a pre-determined way point Sevren's forces split, a small yet elite force slipping away along drainage canals towards the city's space port whilst the main force continued towards the heavily fortified headquarters.

The sheer speed and numbers of Yorre's forces allowed them by simple merit of inertia to push all the way to the gates, where they then engaged the regiment tasked with watching the gates. It would not be long before communications reached the nine regiments outside the city walls, who would then rush back to the city to aid in its defense, and Yorre needed to take the gates before they could be let back into the city, otherwise they would become the hammer to smash Sevren's forces against the anvil of the castle-like headquarters, filled to the brim with troops loyal to Zeus's Thunder. The last two blocks were paid for with hundreds of lives on both sides for every foot advanced, heavy weapons teams and Hellhound flame tanks defending the gates and giving no quarter. Concentrated fire from innumerable lasguns eventually breached even the heavily armored promethium tanks the Hellhounds bore and sent flaming, blackened shards of metal in all directions, the heat and force of the explosions often enough to set off a chain reaction from any nearby flame tanks. Funnels of black, oily smoke churned from the wrecks as Guardsmen rushed past, giving as much berth to the immolated heaps as the avenues allowed.

With the chokepoints overwhelmed two heavily fortified bunkers, one on each side of the massive gates were the only obstacle between the rebelling regiments and the gate controls. Mortars and autocannons taken from a nearby armory provided the firepower necessary to keep those within the bunkers effectively useless while squads with flamers maneuvered around the static defenses. Soon more smoke trickled upwards into the spring air, billowing out from the ferrocrete firing ports left scorched and blackened, everything inside, organic or otherwise reduced to a charred, ruined mass. The gates now belonged to Yorre, the normally stoic commissar praising the devoted regiments for their selfless sacrifices loudly. It had cost him a lot of good men to seize these gates, now it was up to the young Colonel and his 99th to take the city's military headquarters from the Zeus's Thunder commanders, a much more fortified and well-armed bastion. If they couldn't, it was only a matter of time before he and his men would be overwhelmed by traitorous PDF's loyal to Zeus's Thunder. The ultimate fate of the city, and indeed all of Astoria still hung in the balance.

Truth be told, Sevren didn't have the raw firepower needed to siege the headquarters, just like he couldn't bring down the fortified walls of the city and make his own way in before. The columns of Chimera transports and Sentinels had ground to a halt, the squads within in them waiting tensely. Snipers and forward observers had smashed their way into nearby buildings and did what they could to keep an eye on what the enemy was doing and to remain hidden from their rivals on the headquarter's walls and towers. The massive, ferrocrete-shrouded structure had a full block of nothing but flat, open pavement between it and any nearby structures, making it incredibly easy for the crews operating bolter turrets or any of the other integral weapon systems to retaliate on any who would siege the great fortress. Heavy tanks like the Lemen Russ or the Predator of the Space Marines had little to fear from the fortress's defenses, but Colonel Sevren found himself in very short supply of those great war machines.

His was a force meant for swift, precise strikes, sowing confusion and destruction and then leaving before any substantial resistance could be mounted. He was ill-equipped for this conflict, and even if he sacrificed many men to breach the walls with the only explosives powerful enough to breach the thick battlements, melta bombs, the defenders inside would still be able to rain all sorts of death down upon his regiment as they trickled through the gap. The losses would be horrific. His men would be willing to do that for him, for Astoria, but he was not willing to do that to them, at least not yet. To the enemy it may look like he and his forces were cowering in the shadows, afraid to show themselves to the dug-in defenders, but in actuality they were waiting for the proper time to rush forward, a time signaled by smoke and explosions from within the headquarters compound.

This was to be accomplished by the men contained within the hulls of four Chimeras that had broke off from the main force and had made best speed towards the space port. Almost as heavily defended as the headquarters it had been designated as a secondary concern to the leaders of Zeus's Thunder in their zeal to protect their own lives and the power they had wrongfully seized. After all, Sevren was not seeking to flee the planet, but to kill them and bring about an end to their short reign, so while the walls of the headquarters compound bristled with men loyal to Zeus's Thunder the walls of the space port were nearly empty, defensive weapons manned with a skeleton crew. A carefully timed revolt by the port's maintenance workers plunged the compound into chaos, power drained away from the gates and the comm relays, keeping the port both open and silent the moment the Chimeras slipped over the side of the drainage canals and onto the streets not twenty meters away.

The transports squealed to a halt just outside the space port authority building, ramps hissing down smoothly on gleaming hydraulics as Storm Troopers poured out from them, clad head-to-toe in the angular gray camouflage of the regiment, hellguns at the ready to cut down any resistance with a swath of red beams. The fourth Chimera's squad was only half the size of the others, the other three members replaced with two Guardsmen with extensive EOD knowledge and a civilian expert welder wheeling his heavy cutter on a hand cart behind him. The first three squads, designated Alpha, Beta and Charlie were responsible for sweeping and clearing the buildings as the unit moved forward, the Storm Troopers with the explosive and welding experts, Gamma, responsible solely with keeping them safe from harm.

A cacophony of fire and security alarms, snapping lasgun fire and screams met the infiltration force as they entered the four-storey building. With the calm, efficient movements ground into them from the Scholae Excubitos and a decade in serving with the Terrax Guard before being returned to Astoria the three Storm Guard squads dissected and eliminated all opposition, superior training and weapons felling thrice their number without suffering a single casualty of their own. They worked their way downwards swiftly, heading towards the sub-basement where a long and risky journey would begin.

Considered a last ditch effort in times of planetary siege the commanders and governor of Astoria, ideally holed up within the headquarters, were to evacuate to the space port via a long, winding tunnel deep beneath the city. Once there, they would take one of two reserve shuttles and attempt to make their way from the doomed planet, thus at least saving the men into whom the Imperium had invested the most time and money. The probes and hearings into why the planet had fallen while under their command would only become painfully clear to the fleeing leaders after they had rendezvoused with an Imperial vessel. Now, this tunnel meant to preserve the lives of the top brass was going to be used to bring about their deaths.

Meant to allow for the swift transit of personnel in times where the city's power grid may be compromised there was little in the way of defense systems along it, but, recognizing that the tunnel could be used as a quick and easy way to slip past the headquarters defenses, three massive doors were placed equidistant from each other along the tunnel, only to be opened by an express command from either the governor or the top-ranking regimental commander. The infiltration force did not have these codes, nor did they have the time to try and break the encryption. What they did have were two backpacks full of melta bombs and an arc-welder that could cut through the hull of a Chimera within seconds. These things would to suffice in the place of the legitimate password.

Half an hour later found a two by one meter hole in the last door forming as the metal fell to the floor, edges still glowing orange hot from the cutting torch. Storm Troopers poured through, hustling it to the door leading into the bowels of space port. Opening it cautiously the forward three squads quickly emptied into the hallway, the guards who had come to investigate the noise dying swiftly as they rounded a corner to a combination of hellgun fire and frag grenades. The fourth squad with the civilian, Gamma, remained behind to secure the tunnel while the other three ascended to street level with the two EOD specialists, shooting out any cameras they encountered along the way. It would still not be long before their presence was detected and come under the fire of hundreds of regular Guardsmen, against which the best armor and training would not save them.

Once they reached the compound's main level Alpha and Beta took up firing positions behind whatever cover they could find while Charlie and the EOD Guardsmen breached one of the guard towers and rushed inside. Cries of alarm followed closely, Alpha and Beta coming under increasingly heavy fire within a matter of moments, the rippling zaps of lasguns returning fire drowned out as the top of the tower erupted with a flash of blue energy and orange flame, Charlie squad slipping free of the smoking doorway at the bottom seconds later. Providing them the best cover fire they could Alpha and Beta screened Charlie, running and shooting before coming to a rest at the base of the next tower in the line, two of their number dropping along the way, carapace armor riddled with dozens of tiny black holes seeping blood onto the dull grey pavement. This next tower suffered the same fate as its fellow, melta bombs ripping apart its crown and turning everything within it to useless slag.

Far from witless the commanders of Zeus's Thunder quickly saw the pattern and exposed the infiltrating force to withering fire, keeping them pinned at the base of the second tower while even more Guardsmen loyal to them filed into the courtyard, the glare of lasgun discharges nearly blinding to unprotected eyes. Their momentum stolen and element of surprise stripped from them the three Storm Trooper squads hunkered down and returned fire as best they could, dropping multiple foes with enviable precision, but they could not last against such superior numbers. Smoke grenades were popped and tossed along the wall between the infiltration force and the third tower, red smoke gushing forth from the metal cylinders, providing cover and also acting as a signal to the rest of the 99th still outside the walls. The infiltrators had gotten as far as they could, it was time for the rest of the regiment to act.

The dash from cover was as devastating as it was courageous for the infiltrating force, the combined firepower of the assembled Guardsmen ensuring hits even if the targets weren't visible. Half of Alpha and all but two of Beta fell along that stretch of wall, as well as one of the explosive experts. A squad member from Charlie set the timer for twenty seconds on the top melta bomb still in the dead EOD Guardsman's pack, yelling for everyone to get clear while running himself. Storm Troopers dove for cover as the packs detonated, turning a five meter radius into a scorched crater, a blue corona of residual energy still drifting skyward for several seconds afterwards. Down to only a third of their original numbers the remaining Storm Troopers put up a tenacious resistance as the third tower was ripped apart from the inside, the last one that had a clear line of fire on the regiment's approach to the walls.

Outside the walls the alleys and streets that contained the armored column suddenly became filled with a haze of exhaust as the Chimeras once again started up and moved forward, snaking towards the damaged wall. Covering fire from thousands of Guardsmen with the 99th kept the wall defenders ducking, but not completely pinned as the Chimeras ground to a halt several meters from the wall, more squads outfitted with melta bombs scrambling to the ferrocrete barrier and setting the charges. Once clear the charges were detonated remotely, a large hole, more than large enough to pass a Chimera through forming in the dense material, edges blackened and smoking.

The first Sentinel through was a modified Catachan pattern, mounting a heavy flamer but with an enclosed crew compartment to shield the pilot from sniper fire. It found plenty of use for its flamer on the massed troops, scattering the densely packed line and sowing chaos amongst the Guardsmen still flush with the success of dealing with the infiltrators. The attempts to rally the squads almost worked except more and more Sentinels and Chimeras continued to pour in through the breach, the orders of sergeants ignored as Guardsmen continued to die in droves under the searing promethium issuing from the flame-throwers.

Within ten minutes the compound was under the 99th's complete control, filled with idling Chimeras, their multi laser turrents swiveling watchfully as the Armored Fist troops received their orders and began to spread out, tasked with clearing out every square foot of the headquarters. It was made clear that those wishing to surrender should be allowed to do so, but encounters between those loyal to Astoria and those to Zeus's Thunder usually only ended with bodies piled high and lasgun barrels steaming. Slowly, steadily, the wings were cleared, walls peppered and torn from lasgun fire and frag grenade discharge, what few prisoners there were shoved roughly to the courtyard and kept under watchful guard. Roughly half an hour after that all that remained was the main complex, held separate from all the other buildings as a very last line of defense against besieging enemies. The halls within were narrow and shaped to provide maximum cover for defending troops, with numerous choke points and blind corners suitable for ambushes making each hall, each room a potential death trap. Even detailed blueprints pulled up by the ever-helpful engineers would only level the playing field between besieger and besieged, and the commanders of Zeus's Thunder would have to be dead within hours, otherwise the regiments loyal to them would continue to fight against the 99th and the Guardsmen loyal to Commissar Yorre.

Stymied and with time running out Colonel Sevren finally gave the other to storm the building, hand-picked units with plenty of flamers and frag grenades leading the way. Resistance was predictably stiff, knowing the price for treason was death anyways so they might as well try and take a few enemies with them. This last phase of Sevren's plan to liberate Astoria from the clutches of the usurpers had none of the critical timing or swift, calculated maneuvers the previous offensives possessed. The terrain, the opponent, the time restraints allowed none of it. The enemy was calling the shots and choosing the time and place of conflict, and while with each hall secured brought the regiment closer to victory, it also wore on the men who were continually forced to gun down desperate former comrades, to watch as their wounded and dead were dragged away from the ever-advancing front, leaving dark red streaks on the once pristine floors.

Then, roughly forty minutes into the operation, all resistance ceased. Used to ducking for cover behind walls and peering around corners with mirrors the point teams suddenly grew very silent, fingering their weapons uncertainly. Prompts to relay what was happening on the vox casters told of rooms and halls having been turned into slaughterhouses, entire squads ripped apart violent, swiftly by something that left only light, widely-spaced footprints in blood. What's more, the steps seemed to advance not from the direction the 99th was, but from deep within the complex itself.

Edging forward with more dread than professional caution at the grisly turn of events the point squads continued to uncover massacres as they advanced, as well the occasional sound of a bolt pistol or lasgun discharging once or twice before being silenced somewhere in the distance. When at last the main war room was within spitting distance there was no three inch thick metal door barring their progress, no chattering of weapons determined to keep their advance from coming any closer. There was instead the sound of low sobs, of the whisper faint drips of something more viscous than water falling from a height and landing into a pool of some similar fluid. Their own booted feet leaving a macabre rust-colored trail of oxidizing blood the advance squads gingerly nudged the door aside and paused once more, whispering amongst themselves at the sight before them.

The walls, consoles and holo-fields of the room, meant to be the nerve center of military operations anywhere on the planet were liberally painted in the high-velocity arterial spray the squads had encountered up to that point. The bodies of men wearing high-ranking uniforms lay sprawled haphazardly around the room in no fewer than three pieces, bolt pistols, many of them later to be found with full clips, still clutched in severed hands. At the very center of the room, standing before a massive chart table were two figures, one kneeling and weeping while clutching the severed stump of his right arm, the other a leanly built man wearing a full body suit of darkest pitch, a long blade of some sort slung over his right shoulder. Tales and rumors filled in the rest of the information needed for the advance squads to determine that this was a Callidus assassin, and it seemed that the High Lords of Terra had not been unaware of Zeus's Thunder's slaying of the officially appointed planetary governor.

" This is former Commander Reigh, head of Zeus's Thunder. He will say anything you want him to. Use him to restore order to this planet and once the traitors have been dealt with, send a request to the Administratum to appoint a new governor, " was all the assassin would say before he walked calmly edged past the stunned squads, disappearing completely the moment he was out of line of sight.

Word of Zeus's Thunder's destruction quickly spread through both the civilian and military channels, Reigh telling every Guardsman, officer and other subversive to lay down their arms and embrace once again the rightful rule of the High Lords of Terra and the Immortal God Emperor. Seconds after the address was made he was dead from a bolter round to the back of the head, Commissar Yorre re-holstering the sidearm with a look of absolute disgust upon his already grim visage. The message was repeated for a full six hours over all available channels, though in the aftermath of the massive numbers of surrenders it was considered unfeasible and wasteful to execute every single Guardsmen who had been a part of a regiment that supported Zeus's Thunder. Instead, it was the upper ranks, everything from lieutenant upwards that were expunged with extreme vigor, seen as far too weak-willed to continue leading Imperial units while everyone below were merely following the orders of their superiors. Picts of the command room after the Callidus had finished with it were distributed liberally amongst the regular Guardsmen and, unremarkably, the topic of Zeus's Thunder slipped from collective memory.

In the weeks that followed the planet's entire population rejoiced in the return of the rightful rule of the Imperium, as well as the single regiment who would not bow down to the unjust rule of traitorous men. Colonel Sevren and the surviving members of his regiment were all given ribbons of merit and treated as heroes by both the populace and their fellow Guardsmen, all of this of course meant to reassure the ever-watchful gaze and often unseen hand of the Emperor that there were no lingering thoughts of rebellion on Astoria. Even the twenty-percent increase in Astoria's tithe for the next decade was met with the most humble and sincere agreement by civil and industrial officials, knowing that even the tiniest complaint could be perceived as dissidence and the Administratum was in a purging mood.

The time that Sevren and the 99th Astorian had to enjoy the fruits of their labor was short. Three months after the liberation of the planet the Astoria received their new planetary governor, as well as orders for Colonel Sevren to bring his regiment up to full strength within two weeks, cannibalizing any personnel and equipment from other regiments needed to do so, all under his strictest observation. It seems that some boasting by a now deceased member of Zeus's Thunder on a communication sent to a neighboring planet in the solar system had given rise to an overthrow of that planet's rightfully appointed government as well. Sevren's performance on Astoria had not gone unnoticed and he and his men were to become a fully-fledged Imperial Guard Regiment rather than simply an Astorian PDF. A Dictator class cruiser was en route to deliver the newly commissioned regiment in sixteen days, and they had better be ready to depart the moment it hailed the planet. Every day that power-hungry men put themselves above the power and rule of the Administratum and the Emperor it represented was a blaspheme against everything the Imperium of Man was doing. Maxxum Sevren had no option but prepare to depart.

Putting together the best men and equipment he could lay his hands on Colonel Sevren and the Astorian 99th left their home world exactly sixteen days later. A month after that including travel time the world of Watson's Paradise was liberated, those responsible for the seizure of power summarily executed and the 99th was ready to return home once again, hundreds dead after a vicious weeks-long campaign hunting down insurgents within sprawling hives before finally zeroing in on the leader and removing him from power permanently.

While most officers feared failure above all else, Sevren began to regret his success as each mission requiring the 99th's specialized tactics and skills took him and his regiment light years further from home. With each successfully quelled rebellion or purging the 99th's fame continued to spread, increasing the chances that they would be needed in some nearby system, which they always were. Even a special writ that allowed Sevren to requisition whatever he needed from the planet he was currently on to keep his regiment in fighting condition barely kept pace with losses in men and equipment, and as the years passed the percentage of those hailing from Astoria dropped from one hundred to a mere twenty-three percent, the 99th became a hodge-podge of men and equipment from a dozen or more worlds. While they were some of the best that the planets had to offer, it became increasingly difficult to make the unit feel like a whole with some many different accents, languages and patterns of equipment painted over with the fractal gray camo and the Astorian coat-of-arms, the only thing shared between them except their duty to the Imperium. The tight-fisted control of Yorre was instrumental in keeping the regiment from falling apart at the seams, doing everything up to and including executions to break down the barriers between the men and get them to work together as a whole. Three attempts on his life left a few more scars on the grizzled commissar but never broke his desire to see order and discipline amongst those in the regiment.

Adding to the unorthodox composition of the regiment in their encounters with many leaders who had to be taken out quickly and accurately the 99th crossed paths with quite a few members of the Officio Assassinorum and it came to pass that both a Callidus and a Vindicare became attached as semi-permanent members of the regiment, to be used at Sevren's discretion. Many times were weeks and hundreds of lives saved by a well-placed bullet or well-timed blade through judicious use of either or both of these exceptionally trained agents.

While the actions of the 99th earned them plenty of hatred amongst would-be rebels and freedom fighters on any planet that heard of their exploits it was from an unexpected quarter that the regiment would earn the greatest ire. The captain of _The Erinyes_, one Thaddeus Winslake, was originally only irritated that he had been ordered away from the rest of his battle fleet to ferry around this "special" regiment, but as the years passed with no sign of being able to turn back this quickly slipped into a deep and abiding hatred.

This cold hostility towards Sevren and his regiment, whom he blamed for side-tracking his once illustrious career, trickled down through the ranks, minor fights and general disorderly conduct the only time eyes met and words were exchanged between Imperial Guardsmen and Imperial Naval personnel aboard the ship. So far the infractions had been mild and punishable with a "slap on the wrist" in Guardsmen terms, but it was only time before a more serious injury or death would occur, and both sides were determined that it would not be one of them who became the first victim.

So, on a ship as cold to them as the depths of space, in a regiment made more of strangers than countrymen, in a never-ending stream of vital missions in dense urban environments the 99th Astorian Regiment, "The Reclaimers", came to Praetor IV to purge the remains of Nytroblud's Waagh from the industrial maze that would one day cover the planet.

One more mission and one more planet closer to the regiment's breaking point.


End file.
